A Light In The Oncoming Blackness
by CrazyAngel777
Summary: Haldir is responsible for training the cadets of Lothlorien, a job that proves even more vital as the armies of darkness descend on Middle Earth. Among the cadets is Cynda, the only female elf to make it through the rigorous training. She is more intriguing than Haldir yet knows... Movieverse. Haldir/OC. Rated M for future chapters, wink wink.
1. Chapter 1

**Notice: After hearing back from several reviewers, I feel that I must include a warning to those picking up this story. As I have previously stated on my profile, I STICK METICULOUSLY TO CANON (in this case, movie canon). This story fits into the plot of Two Towers. Therefore, everything that happens on screen, happens in this story (yes, that means what you think it means for Haldir), and everything that is fanfiction happens in the off-screen time of this character. I don't want anyone to feel duped or tricked into reading something they do not wish to read. However, if you enjoy a good romance, with plenty of action, and perhaps a bit of Game Of Thrones style drama, PLEASE continue! :-) Thanks again for reading!**

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><p>Haldir breathed deep, allowing his lungs to fill to capacity, then exhaled as he pulled back the string of his bow, the feathers at the end grazing his cheek lightly before he aimed his sight down the length of his arrow. He kept his back straight, shoulders back, and waited until he heard the tell-tale creak as his bow reached its zenith. He eased out one more carefully measured breath, his lips pursed as if he were blowing all of the tension from his body. When his breath was fully exhaled, he held his lungs in abeyance, knowing that any intake or release of oxygen would disrupt his aim. After only a moment's hesitation, he released the arrow with a flick of his fingertips, and it shot true. Within the blink of an eye, the target nearly a mile away made a satisfying thud, Haldir's arrow sinking deep within dead center. Quiet clapping ensued, and he held his chin high, not out of arrogance but unassuming pride in his own skill. The troop of cadets behind him was smiling as their instructor turned, the slightest curve of a grin upon his lips. He caught the glance of the only remaining elleth of the group, a fierce young woman by the name of Cynda.<p>

"Very well done, Haldir," Celeborn said from his vantage point slightly above the aligned cadets, pulling Haldir's attention back to his duties. All of the cadets glanced up in wonder at the Lord of the Golden Wood and his Lady, who stood quietly on a slightly higher platform in their giant mellyrn tree. The Lord and Lady's presence was incredibly rare at the training of cadets, but as this particular group had been hand-picked by Haldir himself, they thought it wise to take an interest in their future guardians' progress.

"However," Celeborn said as he descended the few steps between his platform and the next. "Conditions will not always be so favorable. I know you all can shoot, otherwise you would not have made it this far in your training. I daresay some of you could even split your instructor Haldir's arrow right now," he said with a teasing grin, to which Haldir returned an even more self-assured smile. "But you must learn to shoot a target upon horseback. The wind against your hand, pelting rain in your eyes. You must _know_ that your arrow will strike true, even if you cannot guarantee it with your senses," he turned to Haldir, his expression stern. He held his arms straight out, chanting in elvish, and within moments, the wind in the trees blew fiercely, tearing leaves from their branches. Haldir loaded another arrow, and pulled back on the string. As he aimed, Celeborn threw all his might into his magic. The wind did not remain a constant speed, and it whipped frantically back in different directions. The cadets marveled at Haldir's composure, as his grip changed ever so slightly with every adjustment of the wind. His aim seemed to anticipate the changing conditions. He breathed out again, just as he had before, and released his arrow seemingly far to the right. The wind changed just as he released, and carried his arrow to split the one before it. The wind halted almost instantaneously, and all the cadet's eyes darted to the target. Haldir could not contain his smile as the cadets released exalted whispers. Celeborn looked genuinely impressed.

"And that, cadets, is why he leads our northern guard," he said with a slight nod of appreciation, which Haldir returned graciously.

Just as Celeborn went to climb the stairs to his platform once more, Galadriel moved to the stairs with almost frightening determination. Celeborn stopped and watched her descend toward Haldir, a slow smile gracing his lips. He knew his Lady too well.

"Very well done, My Lord Celeborn," she said softly, her voice commanding the attention of anyone within earshot. "A difficult shot for even the finest archer, indeed," she said, and Celeborn climbed the remaining stairs, his smile never vanishing. "Haldir, do you mind?" she asked, motioning that she would like to demonstrate another difficult shot for the cadets. Haldir answered by loading another arrow and pulling back the string. Galadriel did not move, did not so much as twitch a finger. Her eyes remained trained on Haldir, the intensity in them enough to force the cadets to step back in anticipation. After the chaos of Lord Celeborn's screaming wind, Galadriel was, in contrast, deafeningly silent. Haldir, however, had already hesitated longer than his previous shot. With some shock, the cadets realized his grip on his bow was loose, and his other hand, poised on the outstretched string, was beginning to tremble. He attempted to calm himself, but his breath in was shaky and shallow. He blinked several times, just before he lowered his bow dejectedly. Some of the cadets gasped in disbelief, looking frantically from Lady Galadriel, who seemed calm and collected, to Haldir, clearly shaken. His entire body seemed to tremble from some unseen force as he stared down at his lowered bow.

Suddenly he raised his aim, and loosed his arrow almost immediately. It hit the target, but it was almost off the left side entirely. The difference between a kill and an escaped enemy.

The cadets stood in stunned silence. Not even the wrath of nature had swayed Haldir's aim. And yet Lady Galadriel had reduced the master archer to a trembling mess.

"Fear not, cadets," came Celeborn's voice, accompanied by a chuckle as he descended the stairs once more. "I assure you… You will never face anything like the Lady Galadriel," he smiled proudly, placing his hand on her back tenderly. She smiled at him, and glanced back at Haldir, who was staring at his botched arrow nearly a mile away. "And do not fret my friend," Celeborn said, placing a hand on Haldir's shoulder. "It is not a testament of your weakness, but rather a demonstration of her power," he squeezed Haldir's shoulder reassuringly, as if to express his deepest empathy. He had most assuredly felt the full force of Galadriel's power many times.

Celeborn turned to address the cadets. "You are dismissed. Trials begin in a fortnight. I suggest you train together, and practice firing under duress," Celeborn said, and the cadets slowly disbanded. All headed for the trees and their respective homes. All but one.

Haldir remained even after the Lord and Lady and all cadets had gone. He knew Celeborn's words were true. Not even the prince of Mirkwood could have made that shot. Galadriel had simply wanted to exemplify that with fortitude, not perfection, they would find their targets. He just could not shake the aftermath of Galadriel's magic. He fired several more arrows, just to reassure his own convictions. All hit the bulls-eye, but somehow he still felt emasculated. He rested his bow against the railing of the stairs, only to find another set of weapons already there. He recognized the bow as Cynda's. He glanced around for the cadet, and only found a distant thunder of hooves to evidence her departure from Caras Galadhon. Where could she be going at sunset? He decided his muscles were still far too stimulated from Galadriel's mental attack. He felt as though electricity had just coursed over his flesh, leaving him twitchy. He had grown to care for his cadets, after all, and didn't see any reason to remain within the city when one of them had left without her bow. He could go for a late patrol. In the direction Cynda had gone.

He found his white stallion, Quellson, in the stables and mounted without a saddle or bridle. He manipulated the horse simply with a twitch of his thumb against its withers and his legs on its sides. He galloped from the doors, and quickly found Cynda's trail. An elf rarely leaves a trail, but even the lightest horse leaves hoof prints.

He followed her until he could no longer detect her moving with his sensitive elf ears. She had stopped several miles ahead of him. He dismounted and patted Quellson on the neck. He would find his way home.

His footfalls were almost undiscernible as he raced ahead on foot. He had forgotten the joy he felt in his beloved forest. He had not been running through these woods simply for the pleasure in a very long time. He almost lost himself as the cool, damp air brushed his long hair from his face, and the scent of grass and pine met his senses. At least, until he caught the scent of blood.

He followed the scent, until he found the source. A single deer under a large tree, and a wildcat, dead beside it, a knife in its heart. Cynda knelt beside the deer, her hands hovering over a claw wound on its hindquarters. She was chanting quietly, and Haldir quietly ascended the nearest tree. He concealed his presence, curious to see what Cynda would do.

She moved her hands in circles over the wound, uttering soft words in elvish, and soon the deer began to move beneath her. The animal's kin began to emerge from the forest, unafraid of the elf hovering over their fallen comrade. Soon an entire herd of the woodland deer encircled Cynda, until finally she removed her hand and the deer sprinted from her, its life restored. Without hesitation, she pulled her knife from the fallen wildcat, sheathed it, and went sprinting after the deer. Haldir began to leap along with her, staying to the boughs of the trees. He didn't know why he continued to follow her, she was clearly in no danger, but for some reason he couldn't pull his eyes away from her. The way she sprinted, keeping pace with the deer. It was as if she had become one with this forest. She would make an excellent marchwarden.

Finally, after several miles of bounding gleefully, Cynda slowed and allowed the deer to separate from her. Without another thought, they disappeared into the growing darkness. Surely she would turn back toward Caras Galadhon. The woods were growing dangerous at night. Rumors of great wolves and Orc armies had spread across the realms of men. Haldir feared that his beloved wood might soon be under the spell of a growing evil that all had felt but none would dare name.

But instead, she turned away, and began walking purposefully north. Haldir jumped lithely from tree to tree, always slightly behind her. He followed as the sun set the canopies of the trees alight with a glow of red and orange. He had spent many a night beneath these trees, but he knew many of the young elves had never strayed from Caras Galadhon. As her commanding officer, he could not simply leave her and ignore her trek into the deep of the Lothlorien forest.

She finally came to a halt at a small pond, which was filled by a slow waterfall at the northern end. Haldir knew this pond. He would water his horse here on his way from Caras Galadhon to the northern border.

Cynda stood for only a moment at the water bank, then ascended the short outcropping of rocks to the top of the waterfall. She tossed her knife and sheath away, then removed her knee high boots. Haldir's heart jumped as he realized what she was doing. _Leave. This is most improper. You are her commanding officer. You must go, now._ His mind knew what he should do. But his defiant feet remained perched on his branch, behind a bushel of thick leaves. _You are many years older than she. Go, now._ But just as she began to peel away her cloak, he realized how long it had been since he had gazed upon a woman. He had lived for so long; his life as of late had been staggeringly devoid of contact, both emotional and physical. He spent all of his time in the forest, with only a small company of marchwarderns, how could he possibly create any lasting connections with anyone?

Cynda threw her cloak down with her boots and pulled her armored undershirt over her head. She peeled her leggings down along the curve of her hips and before long, stood completely nude. Haldir's breath caught in his throat as he beheld the sight of her. His admiration was not of a sexual nature, though he could not deny she was so perfectly proportioned that it pained him. She was simply a divine elleth, the likes of which he could not recall having seen in a very long time. Her porcelain skin was smooth and glowed like the ancient white gems of their ancestors. The curve of her body, from the side of her breasts to her hips, seemed to catch the moonlight as she waded into the ankle-deep water at the crest of the waterfall. She reached up and pulled her long golden hair from its band, and ran her fingers through it, freeing it from the traditional warrior's braid. She turned slightly to gaze over the edge of the waterfall, and he swallowed hard as he observed her in all her magnificence. Her breasts were small, but with a slight curve beneath them. Her body was strong, that of a woodland elf who had long run beneath the canopies to the silence of her own footsteps. His mouth hung open in awe, and he couldn't help the shallow breaths escaping from his lips.

Cynda dove suddenly from the waterfall, and disappeared with not so much as a splash beneath the water's black surface. She remained below just long enough that he started to worry, until she surfaced gracefully, running her hands over her wet hair and pushing it from her face. She breathed deep, and lay back, floating her body on the water's surface. The contrast of the night-darkened water and her moonlit body sent a chill down his spine. He was beginning to feel something deep inside himself that he had not felt since he was very young. His grip on the branch of his tree tightened instinctively. He watched her slowly kick her feet, her body creating little ripples of moonlight across the water's surface. She stood when she got closer to one of the banks, the water only coming up to her waist. Sparkling droplets of water beaded around her shoulders, and slowly, torturously, made their way down her flesh to drip from her exposed breasts. Haldir shut his eyes tight, trying desperately to remember his position. When he opened them again, Cynda had braided several water lilies into her hair, now a long single braid, which she pulled over her shoulder to drape down her chest. She emerged from the water, her long legs moving in slow, measured steps. The visage of her wet, naked form sent another shudder through him, making him curse his own body.

Cynda gathered her clothes and one by one, slipped each garment on with care. She sat on a rock near the shore, her back to him, and slid on her boots. Her voice emerged, a shock against the quiet reverie of the forest.

"Haldir," she said, barely a whisper, knowing elf ears would hear it. He froze, a panic gripping his lungs and seizing all intake of breath. He immediately thought of Galadriel, and the position she had bestowed upon him. A position of respect. He had betrayed that respect.

"Please, would you join me?" she asked, finishing her boots and standing to turn and stare right into the tree in which he was hiding. He jumped lithely down as she approached him. He kept his eyes trained on the ground. He had insulted this lady enough with his hungry eyes.

"May I offer my humblest of apologies, my lady," he said, bowing low as she came to stand before him. He remained bowed as a request for forgiveness. He would not rise unless she bade it.

"And I will accept, though I do not require it of you, my lord," she said, touching him gently on the shoulder, permission for him to rise. He straightened, somewhat perplexed by her words. He finally gazed into her eyes, and therein found a power akin to that of Lady Galadriel. He could not imagine that even through months of training, he had never looked this one in the eyes. She stunned him to speechlessness.

"I would not require an apology when there has been no affront. If I had been offended, I would not have allowed you to remain,"

_ Did she know I was there the entire time? Would she have undressed otherwise?_ The thought of her undressing simply because she knew he was watching… it ignited something inside him that he had to contain, with some discernable effort.

"We are all vulnerable to our passions. Even you, Haldir of Lorien" his eyes flickered down to her exquisite body, now clothed, and he imagined her laid bare once more. She stepped forward, so her breath slithered past his cheeks. He felt his skin growing hot and his heart hammering inside his chest. He fought very hard against the images in his mind. Grabbing her by the arms, pressing her against a tree with the force and the heat of his own body…

"Besides… It is not a testament of your weakness… but a demonstration of my power," she whispered, echoing Lord Celeborn's words. Her lips were so close to his that he had to close his eyes and bite his lip to restrain himself. The suggestion that her power mirrored that of the great elf sorceress, that her flesh held the same influence as Galadriel's stare… he craved to know more of how she could use that power. He felt her fingertips gently graze his chest, and when he opened his eyes, she was gone, so quickly and quietly that he knew there would be no trail to follow. He gasped once, not realizing he had been holding his breath. He gazed out into the dark, and shuddered as the thought of her overtook him once more. He had not felt this way for a woman in many years.

He grinned, excited by the possibilities, and turned, allowing his feet to take him wandering through the moonlit woods. He could catch her, if he so desired. He was much older and far faster than she. He folded his hands behind his back, and allowed the calming air of the forest to fill his lungs. He glanced up to see Caras Galadhon shimmering in the distance. A pang of fear and desperation hit him. A great darkness was coming. All had felt it after the ringbearer's visit to Caras Galadhon. The darkness could swallow everything. But perhaps, just perhaps, he had found a small glimmer of light in the oncoming blackness.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Okay so... this was only supposed to be a OneShot. Buuuut I like these two together, so I think I'll continue. Keep checking back for more chapters and as always, I love to hear from you guys! **


	2. Chapter 2

The cadets had several days off to train, and to allow their instructor to return to his duties patrolling the northern border. He was thankful for the escape, especially after… the encounter in the woods. He needed to clear his mind. He felt much more confident with his self-control upon his return to Caras Galadhon four days later for a sparring lesson. He felt certain he could once again maintain the appropriate student-teacher relationship with Cynda.

He left Quellson in the stables for some much needed grooming, and climbed the many stairs to the cadets' flet, high in one of the mighty mellyrn trees. They stood patiently, hands folded behind their backs. Cynda seemed wholly unaffected by his presence. For which he was grateful.

"Vedui' il'er (Greetings, everyone)" he uttered, and stood before them, his presence commanding. They all nodded in greeting. "Your trials will soon be upon you. Should you pass, you will be granted military grade weapons, a title among the realm's watch, and a patrol that you must maintain at all cost. I have no doubt that you all are very capable and skilled warriors, and if you were to be tested right now, would pass with little effort." Many of the cadets smiled from their instructor's praise.

"Today is merely a formality. We will spar, so that I may judge your preparedness," he said, turning to remove his bow, quiver, and cloak. He hung them gently over the flet's banister. He left his sword sheathed at his hip, and rested his hand on the hilt of his elven blade. "Any volunteers?" he asked with a grin. Ehron, one of the youngest boys, pulled his sword from its sheath and stepped forward, bowing out of respect. Haldir bowed back, and unsheathed his blade. They began to circle one another, Haldir ever vigilant and critical of the boy's stance and footwork. He allowed the boy to make the first strike, a lunge which he deflected easily. Ehron tested Haldir's reflexes only a few more times, before gleaning his opponent's speed and skill. Then the two began to truly spar, at what everyone would assume to be full speed. The clangs of their blades echoed among the trees, and some elves even emerged from their dwellings to observe. Haldir was impressed with the boy's stamina, and continued to throw tricky maneuvers at him. He deflected all of them, until finally Haldir decided to end it. He kept the boy's attention as he threw his might into his sword, then spun around, kicking out and sweeping the boy right off his feet. As any elf would, the boy landed gracefully, his elbow positioned so he could still thrust his blade upward at his opponent. Had Haldir's sword not been poised at the boy's throat, that is.

"Well fought, Ehron," Haldir said, offering the boy a hand, which he took and pulled himself up. "Yes, you must keep your attention on your enemy's weapon, but you must also be aware of their movements and their position. An Orc will not keep to the rules of a fair duel. Your ankle would have been broken and your throat cut," he said, and the shock on some of the cadet's faces was palpable. This was Haldir's first admittance that they may one day fight an Orc army. "The armies of darkness remain beyond our borders, for now. But they are coming. Should they find themselves at the borders of Lothlorien, the only thing that will keep them from our families, our homes, and our Lord and Lady… is us." He gleaned from some of the cadets faces that they had not been prepared for this reality. Perhaps this sparring session was not so routine.

Cynda stepped forward, tossing her cloak back to one of the other cadets. He looked down at the garment with disgust, clearly confused as to why he should be her squire. Haldir hesitated only a moment, then pulled his chin up and breathed deep. He raised his sword and took a fighting stance. Cynda bowed her head, her eyes never leaving his. He did the same, and as soon as he had finished, she lunged forward. He had not expected her to come at him with such determination and force, which was the only reason he spun away rather than contact her blade. Instead of regaining her composure and lunging again, Cynda simply used her momentum and kicked off of the mellyrn tree's massive trunk. She hopped lithely over Haldir, her blade contacting his as she flew through the air. He could not help the smile that spread across his lips. As she continued to twist and flee, lunge and strike, Haldir tried to remember the last time he had engaged a foe worth fighting.

Their spar lasted longer than he had anticipated, and he could even make out delighted whispers from the trees above. It was rare for a woman to make it through the warrior's trials, and even more uncommon for the elves of Lothlorien to witness a sparring match between an accomplished officer, such as himself, and a female cadet. Haldir quite enjoyed the attention. He enjoyed sparring with Cynda.

He grinned to himself, confident that he could still end the match easily. He lunged at her, but rather than bring his sword down, he slid on his knees to her left, and caught her ankle with his left hand. He pulled her down to one knee, and stood behind her, his blade at her throat. Some whispers, claps, and even a few whistles emitted from both the onlookers and the other cadets. Haldir grinned, shaking his head in amusement.

Cynda brought the hilt of her sword up, using it to thrust his blade away from her skin. She grabbed his arm where it had draped over her shoulder, and pulled, throwing him over her. He twisted in midair, like a falling cat, and landed on one knee in front of her. Before he could register what had happened, the flat side of her blade rested against the inside of his thigh, just above a very important artery. She pulled back her sword slowly, allowing the flat edge to make a quiet scraping noise against the material of his pants. The very same motion she would have done if the sharp edge had sliced delicately into that artery, leaving him to die a slow and bloody death. His eyes never left hers, and he felt suddenly very small. He was shocked to find himself utterly intimidated as she stared right back, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. The other cadets stood in stunned silence. Cynda removed her blade carefully and backed away, allowing Haldir to stand, his eyes never leaving hers. He tried to swallow what had just happened, and found a lump in his throat. His chest had been unprotected, as well as his neck and abdomen. She could have landed any killing blow. Why did she have to choose _that particular _artery?

_Haldir. Tula sinome _(_Come here_). Lady Galadriel's voice in his mind broke all thought from Cynda, and he stumbled back, shocked to hear the desperation in her voice. The last time she had sounded this distressed had been… when the ringbearer had passed through their lands. Haldir held a hand up to the cadets, a signal to stay where they were, and he bounded from the flet, headed for Lady Galadriel's dwelling. He made excellent time, finding himself on one knee before her in a matter of minutes. She stood in her great hall, her hand on the shoulder of a badly wounded elf. One of his company, he realized. He stood, suddenly very worried for his brethren.

"My Lady," he questioned urgently. She wasted no time with formality.

"Haldir. Your lieutenant encountered a troop of Orcs at our northern border. He was attacked, but managed to kill most of them. He says several may have escaped on foot after he was wounded. Take a scout. Scour the area. I want no Orcs escaping with any knowledge of our realm, is that understood?" she asked, her voice stern.

"Amin naa tualle (I am your servant)," he said with a bow, and turned to depart.

"Haldir," Celebron said, stepping forward. Haldir turned to his Lord. "They were mounted on great wolves. _Wargs_," the word seemed to drip with disgust. "Use caution," he said, and Haldir nodded, sprinting quickly away.

He bounded down the stairs, knowing well that the rest of his troop was out on patrol in other areas of the forest. Searching for them would waste precious time.

"Are any of your horses fresh?" he asked urgently as he came once more to the flet of his cadets.

"My mare, Frima. She is the fastest," Cynda stepped forward, her sword sheathed and her cloak about her shoulders.

"Good. Come with me. The rest of you report to Lord Celeborn for further instruction." He knew they were only cadets, and had not yet faced their trials, but surely Lord Celeborn or Lady Galadriel could find some use for them.

Cynda followed him in silence. She did not question their motive or destination, simply followed in muted obedience. A true soldier.

Haldir tacked and mounted his stallion quickly, uttering apologies in elvish for asking more of the animal after only a short respite. Quellson snorted, and tossed his mane lithely. Cynda appeared beside him, mounted on a very strong looking bay mare. Cynda's eyes held no fear or discomfort; she simply looked to Haldir for instruction. He was about to leg Quellson forward without another word, Lady Galadriel's urgency pressing on his subconscious. Instead he hesitated and pulled the reins, positioning his horse in front of the exit. Cynda's eyes grew wide with exasperation.

"Cynda, you are a cadet. I am taking you only because my troop is engaged elsewhere," Cynda rolled her eyes.

"With all due respect, my lord, I am confident I will serve you well," she said, and went to move her horse around his. As if feeling his rider's angst, Quellson pinned his ears and attempted to bite Cynda's mare on the neck. The mare backed away, clearly submissive.

"Cynda!" Haldir demanded, his voice louder than she had ever heard it. The determination on her face vanished, and she seemed just a girl then. A child. He mentally chastised himself for ever bringing her along. He should have gone alone.

"There are Orcs in our woods. One of my company was very badly wounded, and he is a far more experienced fighter than you. We may meet our deaths on this venture, do you understand?"

Rather than stand defiant, as she had before, she simply nodded.

"Good. Then do _exactly_ as I say. If I ask you to turn and flee, can you do that?" she whispered a soft "Yes, my lord."

"If I tell you to leave me dying on the forest floor and burn the trees behind you, can you do that?" Cynda's expression changed, something broken in her eyes that had been whole before his words had snapped it. She did not answer. He nodded, his worst fears realized. She may even be more of a liability than he had thought. He steered Quellson from the doors and galloped away from Caras Galadhon. He could not hear over his own horse's gallop, but he knew Cynda stayed right behind him.

When they had closed in on the northern border, Haldir pulled Quellson up, bringing him to a halt and dismounting. Cynda did the same. Haldir patted his horse on the neck, and uttered an elven command to wait for his return. Quellson snorted, and began nibbling the thin grasses that grew from the forest floor.

"We approach on foot," was his only command. He did not look at Cynda, simply turned and loaded an arrow into his bow, keeping it poised and ready in front of him. His heart fluttered—a nervousness overtaking him that he had not felt when patrolling these woods. He knew it was because of _her_. She was not yet fully trained, and he had led her into immense danger. If she was hurt or killed, he would have to live with that for the rest of his immortal life.

He shook the thought, though he could not shake the flutter of his heart and the electricity crawling over his skin. Every sense felt heightened, as if he were one of the great woodland owls high in the trees, watching a wildcat approach its nest.

His footsteps were silent as he moved through the trees, his eyes and ears searching for any danger. For what seemed like hours, the forest remained peaceful, and Haldir began to wonder if the Orcs had escaped. Had they returned to their putrid home, with news of Lothlorien?

He heard the creak of Cynda's bow, and under her breath, so that only his elven ears could hear, she whispered "Don't move." Haldir froze, his eyes searching for whatever she had seen. He caught the glimmer of Cynda's arrowhead over his shoulder, and his eyes followed it dead ahead. He saw nothing for a moment, until a single leaf fell from a tree and floated gently, twisting and swaying in the cool forest air. Cynda released her arrow, and an Orc came plummeting from the treetop, Cynda's arrow lodged in its skull. Haldir rushed to the body, his bow poised at the creature, just in case. He looked around, searching the nearby trees for any others. Cynda did the same, and retrieved her arrow from the corpse. She wiped the blood from the arrowhead on her cloak, inspected the feathers for any defect, and returned it lovingly to her quiver. Haldir smiled and glanced over at her for the first time since their departure from Caras Galadhon. Only experienced marksmen had the forethought to retrieve their arrows from their targets, if possible. He was thrilled by her cleverness. In more ways than one.

Before he could congratulate her on a well-executed shot, a horrible thud met their ears. Then another, and another. They both turned in the direction of the noises, and readied their bows. The thuds kept coming, and soon they realized the sound was coming from Orc feet, as they landed on the forest floor from their concealment in the trees. As soon as they hit the ground, they began rushing toward the two elves, who both released a barrage of arrows as fast as their reflexes would allow. Dozens of Orcs fell dead before they could even come within sparring range of Haldir or Cynda. More Orcs continued to rain down from the trees, and finally they began to spread their forces out, coming at the elves from all sides. As the two had to constantly readjust to keep the Orcs in their sights, they backed up against each other, each one protecting the other's back. Their arrows eventually ran out, when only a few Orcs remained. Both elves pulled their swords as the last remaining Orcs began to circle them, snarling and smiling wickedly. One Orc, the largest of them, gargled something in Black Speech, and the other four began to focus their attention on Cynda. Haldir's heart skipped a beat. _They know somehow that she is young and inexperienced. They will use her weakness against us both._

Cynda spun her sword in her hand, preparing for the first attack. Haldir only hoped she could maintain her own against Orcs, as she had when sparring with him. The largest of the Orcs rushed Haldir, and its black blade came down to clang against his. Haldir and Cynda remained behind one another, and their blades moved like a swift forest fog, covering their victims in putrid black blood and death. Within moments, two Orcs lay choking on their mortal injuries, and the other three fell, decapitated. Haldir wiped the blood from his blade on one of the Orc's clothing, and turned to Cynda, who had slaughtered four Orcs in the time it had taken him to kill one.

"What took you so long?" she asked, a wide smile spreading across her pink lips as she wiped the blood from her blade. He chuckled, and looked down at the body he had slain. "Mine was bigger," he said, and she laughed out loud- a beautiful ringing sound like that of songbirds. She sheathed her sword and began retrieving her arrows from the bodies around them. Haldir followed suit, his attention still on the trees. Something still felt amiss about the forest.

"Gather the bodies and burn them," he said, returning the last of his arrows to his quiver. "The blood may attract more of them," He turned and whistled a sing-song tune, and before long Quellson came cantering through the woods. Frima followed close behind him. Haldir fashioned some rope from the malleable bark of saplings, and secured the Orc bodies to his horse, allowing the animal to pull five or six at a time. They piled them atop one another and set the mound ablaze. The scent of burning Orc flesh insulted their delicate elf senses, and they receded into the woods, waiting and watching the burn, making sure the forest would not take injury from their actions. Many hours of silence passed as they waited, but Haldir still felt a strange unease. As the last of the embers smoldered and died, he mounted his stallion, taking heed that the sun had set as they waited. He steered Quellson back toward Caras Galadhon, and Cynda followed quietly. Haldir's mind wandered back to the fight, and to the almost mystical way that he and Cynda had seemed to fight together. As if they were two extensions of one person. As if she had heard his thoughts, Cynda finally spoke.

"You fight magnificently," she said, her horse pulling up beside him. He nodded in appreciation of her praise, and looked over at her. She had managed to escape without so much as a droplet of Orc blood on her. "And you, as well," he said, trying to impress upon his tone the depth of his pride in her. She had indeed fought like an experienced and skilled warden.

"Yes, I think we would be very good together," she said with a smirk, legging her horse into a trot, so he could not question the mischievous inflection in her voice. Had she been referring to them fighting and patrolling together, if she passed her trials, or… something else?

In the blink of an eye, a great dark mass blundered through the trees, whipping Frima's head to the side and throwing Cynda far from her. "Frima!" Cynda screamed even as she was tossed far from her horse, as a great wolf sank its teeth into the animal's throat. Haldir leapt from his horse, his sword drawn, just as Quellson lunged forward, his forelegs pawing ferociously at the wolf's head. The wolf snapped its jaws at the horse, and he reared and pawed out of anger. The wolf saw the exposed belly and lunged, flipping Quellson onto his back. Haldir ran with all his strength and hit the wolf broadside with his shoulder, sending the creature reeling. Quellson jumped to its feet, entirely uninjured. Haldir poised his sword in front of him as the hungry wolf circled, saliva dripping from its jowls. Cynda appeared beside him, her sword at the ready. The animal wasted no time, and charged them again. Its sheer size forced them to step away from each other, separating them. The wolf turned and swiped with its paw, knocking Haldir's sword from his hand. The animal lunged, knocking him to the ground, and he felt a searing pain in his shoulder, accompanied with an intense pressure. The pressure increased, until he heard and felt the sickening snap of his collarbone. He screamed in pain, just as the pressure released. His eyes closed tight, he felt the animal's body roll off of him, and a desperate voice meet his ears.

"Haldir!" came Cynda's voice, and he opened his eyes to see her above him, her sword buried in the wolf's temple, just behind its eyes. "Are you alright?" she said, her eyes holding none of the confidence he had always known her for. She stared down at the wound on his shoulder. He didn't want to worry her, so he tried to sit up.

"I'm fine, tend your horse," he said, and she grudgingly obeyed. She ran to Frima, who was lying lifeless on the forest floor. Quellson stood by his kin, his head bowed and grey mane draping over his eyes. Haldir's vision blurred from the pain as he sat up, and he ventured a gaze down at the wound. The wolf had taken his shoulder into its jaws and bit down. He could not see the wound beneath the blood and gore that clung to his cloak. Perhaps that was for the better. He winced as he tried to move his arm, cradling it against his chest. It did little to lessen the pain.

He heard Cynda choke out a sob, and a farewell in elvish. She kissed her mare just above her closed eye and stood, reaching to comfort herself with Quellson's muzzle. He nuzzled her hand gently, a slow sigh fogging the air around his nostrils. Cynda turned, wiping tears from her eyes, and walked sullenly back to Haldir's side. He tried to stand, but the twist of his torso caused his shoulder to sear in pain again. He let out an unintentional cry.

"Wait, lie back, let me see," Cynda said, and he obeyed, only because he felt he might pass out from the pain. Cynda pulled his cloak away as gently as possible, and used the knife at her hip to cut the material of his shirt, pulling it open as well. She almost gagged at the sight of the wound, and he closed his eyes, realizing that it was probably worse than he had thought.

"This is beyond my abilities. You need to get back to Caras Galadhon," she said, putting a comforting hand on his back in an attempt to help him up.

"No. We need to canvas the area. There may be other wolves. They cannot follow us to our home," he said, attempting again to stand. Cynda held him down carefully.

"I will do it," she said, and once again brandished her sword. Haldir tried to protest. The wolves were not as easily taken down as their Orc mounts had been, and Cynda was still inexperienced. But before he could stop her, she vanished into the darkened woods. Quellson appeared beside him, and he bowed his head, offering his mane for Haldir to grasp. He did so, and Quellson lifted his head slowly, pulling Haldir to his feet. He fell against the animal's side, but caught himself on the horn of his saddle. Quellson turned his head, cradling his weakened rider to his side.

"Diola lle, mellonamin (Thank you, my friend)," he whispered. He stayed braced against his horse for some time, the animal's rhythmic breathing calming him and bringing him peace, even through immense pain. Cynda eventually returned, with no inclination whether she had encountered more wolves. Haldir gathered the strength he needed, and pulled himself onto Quellson's back with his one good arm. Cynda climbed up behind him, glancing back once more at her mare's lifeless form.

"She rests beneath the mellyrn trees. The forest will keep her now," Haldir whispered, and Cynda wiped more tears from her cheek. Without another word, he steered Quellson in the direction of Caras Galadhon, and the stallion's walk seemed heavier as he headed for home.


	3. Chapter 3

Haldir awoke to find himself resting comfortably in Caras Galadhon, in the healer's dwelling. He tried to remember how he had gotten home, and could only make out fuzzy pieces. The ride through the forest, reaching Caras Galadhon as day broke over the treetops. He couldn't be sure, but he vaguely remembered being so weakened from his injuries when they reached the city that he had fallen from Quellson. He had never fallen from a horse before…

He realized then that the cause of his anguish was entirely gone. He peered down at the injury, only to find the skin over his shoulder smooth and repaired, with a slight pink hue as the only evidence he had ever been injured at all. With a shock he remembered the snap of his collarbone between the wolf's teeth and winced, reaching up to trace his shoulder lightly with his fingertips.

"Lady Galadriel herself tended to you," Cynda's voice shocked him, and he sat up quickly, only now noticing her presence. She sat in a chair by the door, her knees curled up to her chest. The confident, fierce warrior he knew had not returned. She still seemed only a girl.

"Cynda," was the only thing he was able to say. For the first time in his life, words escaped him. She seemed to be staring down at her hands, fiddling with something. He swallowed, and finally managed his voice.

"Did you stay here with me? All day?" he asked, seeing as the sun was once again setting through the silver-hewn trees.

"Yes," she said. She still had not met his eyes. Fear bubbled up inside him. Perhaps this experience—seeing him wounded—had been too much for her. He chastised himself again for having taken her into the forest.

"You are married," she said, finally looking up at him. He took in a sharp breath, her statement hitting him almost as hard as the wolf had. He was confused for a moment, until his hand shot to his bare chest. His necklace—an elvish wedding band hanging from a delicate silver chain—was missing. Cynda looked up then, his necklace in her hands. The object she had been staring at.

"They had to remove it to heal you," she said and stood. Something about her self-carriage had changed. She walked… slower. She approached his bedside and placed the necklace gently in his hand, closing his fingers around it. She turned to leave without another word. Haldir looked down at the necklace, yet another injury rearing its ugly head. That one had never healed, however. He had never shared that injury with anyone. Only Lady Galadriel and a few of his company knew. He did not wish to share it with Cynda. She reached the door, and the orange glow of the sunset gleamed from a tear on her cheek.

"Yes, I was," he said, and she stopped, wiping the tear from her face when she thought he wasn't watching. She did not turn, but remained with her back to him. He had not realized the words had left his lips until it was too late.

"I _was_ married," he said, slipping the necklace over his head, feeling the cool metal warm as it hit his skin. The weight of it brought him more comfort than any elf healer. He brought the ring between his fingers and closed his eyes, imagining a smile that he had long tried to forget. When he opened his eyes, Cynda had walked back into the room, but still maintained a cold distance from him. She stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her. He contemplated whether he really wanted to divulge this information to her. He barely knew her. But, he realized, he probably would have died in the forest had she not been with him. She deserved something.

"It was many years ago. My wife…" his voice broke and he shook his head, angry at his own weakness. Even the word stung as it left his lips.

"My wife and I were riding through the forest. It was a beautiful day, one like I have never witnessed, before or since. We took our horses east, to the fields, and let them run in the golden grasses. Before long the sun was setting and we had to return home. The forest at night… it was not safe. We had heard tell of great spiders spreading through the trees of Mirkwood. There were rumors that the creatures had begun to spawn in the mellyrn trees of Lothlorien. I didn't want to risk my…" his words caught again, and this time he struck the side table near his bed with his fist. This memory refused to resurface without its original pain and rage. He took in a deep breath, even as Cynda approached and knelt beside him, her eyes greatly softened.

"I didn't want to risk my unborn son's life," his voice was uneven, and he felt a hot tear roll down his cheek.

Cynda stood quickly and kissed the tear from his face, cradling his chin in her hand.

"Enough," she said, looking him in the eyes. "This memory is not mine to take," she sat down on the bed, her hand grasping his. He closed his hand around hers, cherishing the warmth he felt there. He had found very little comfort from the company of others in the last eighty five years.

He closed his eyes, saddened by the memories that had, for so long, been buried. He took a deep breath and looked down, realizing his state of undress. He suddenly felt very exposed, in more ways than one. Cynda caressed his hand with the pad of her thumb, pulling his attention back to her presence.

"She survived. My wife," he could not stop the flow of memories. It was too late. Like trying to stop the moonlight from touching the highest branches.

"We were attacked by the creatures. Spiders the size of horses. My wife was injured, but she survived. When we reached Caras Galadhon, she was in immeasurable pain. Only then did we realize that our son…" he couldn't bring himself to say it. He turned and tried to burn the memory from his eyes, as he stared into the sunset through the trees. Cynda stayed quiet, and continued to caress the back of his hand comfortingly.

"She made the journey to the west. After… what happened… she was not whole. Merely a specter of the woman I had loved. She took no joy in the sunlight, never felt the pulsing life from the hides of our trees. Never…" he swallowed hard. "Never sought her husband's embrace." Cynda began to weep for him. "She never spoke again. Lady Galadriel saw her to the ship. I watched her ride away from this forest. From our home. She never looked back."

A long silence passed between them. Cynda simply held his hand as they sat, the room slowly drained of golden sunlight to fill with the silver light of the moon.

"The forest became my love," Haldir finally continued, staring off into the distance, his attention not fully in the present. "I took my brothers and a few skilled warriors to the north, where the spiders were said to be infiltrating our home. We slaughtered them," he said, and the intensity in his eyes almost frightened her. "And I resigned to maintain our northern borders. I have protected this realm for nearly a century as a marchwarden, though my ranks do occasionally change," he said, looking at her and forcing a smile, indicating his full confidence that she would pass her trials and become a dignified marchwarden. She forced a grin in return, though the atmosphere in the room seemed to stifle any joy.

Without warning, she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. He was taken aback, but cherished the warmth of her lips, and soon his hand ventured to the side of her neck. He could taste the salty tears that lingered between them, and he ran his fingers through her soft hair as he kissed her bottom lip. She pushed away from him and exited briskly. The cold air of the room seemed to rush in and fill the void her body had left. He craved to have her once again by his side. This was for the best, he told himself. She was far too young. She deserved more.

The cadets' trials came upon them quickly. Haldir had not even seen Cynda in the ten days between his injury and the final test. He had ventured back into the forest, making sure none of the Orc army remained. He was glad for the escape. He very rarely spent more than a few hours in Caras Galadhon. He had grown to feel claustrophobic, even in his spacious dwelling high above the ground, near the Lord and Lady's mansion. He loved the city, without a doubt, but after spending so many nights cradled in the boughs of the trees, beneath the stars… Caras Galadhon only paled in comparison. And after his last encounter with Cynda… he felt uneasy. He was unsure how he felt about it. He had truly enjoyed the kiss, though it was highly inappropriate, possibly illegal, given their ranks. But, as of this day, she would no longer be a cadet. That made them equals, and free to do as they saw fit. That possibility frightened him even more.

He returned midafternoon, as his presence was required at the ceremony that evening. The trials lasted all day, from sun-up until the very last trial, a weapons exhibition at dusk. He was never so bold in his fashions, but the ceremony did require a certain amount of formality. He dressed in his best robes, made of a shimmering silver material that mirrored the luminescence of the forest at night. He wore a simple but elegant headdress, which symbolized his rank, and the ring he had been given at his graduation ceremony. He admired himself in the mirror before stepping out to watch the last of the exhibitions. He smoothed the fabric on his abdomen with his hands, and sighed, feeling entirely uncomfortable in his own skin. After spending years in riding boots and woodland robes… he looked like a newly hatched butterfly. Or a sparkly moth.

He descended toward the arena, which was comprised of several flets extending from four massive mellyrn trees and meeting in the middle, to form one large, smooth surface. At the far end were erected two thrones, where Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel sat watching. Haldir stopped several flets above, and sat on the edge, his legs dangling over the side. Ehron was just finishing up his exhibition—a very masculine and well-choreographed demonstration heavily focused on his bow skills. He bowed to Celeborn and Galadriel, and Haldir smiled proudly. The exhibition was the final test of coordination, weaponry, and creativity. Ehron had done just that.

Cynda then walked into the arena and bowed to her Lord and Lady. Haldir noticed with some surprise that he was nervous for her. He had no reason to be, she was the most capable of any of his trainees… ever. Her exhibition began with her kneeling, her sword and knife placed on the ground to her left, her bow to her right. As if hearing a cue audible only to her ears, she grasped her bow, loaded an arrow, and shot it directly above her. The arrow whizzed through the leaves, without grazing a single branch, and out of sight. Cynda fastened her bow around her torso and picked up her sword, spinning beautifully around it, as if it were dancing with her. She swung the blade around both her sides, and out toward an invisible enemy. She moved around the entire flet, exhibiting her skill with her sword, and also her intimate knowledge of her own body, and how to use it. She worked very elegant kicks into her footwork, including flying spin kicks and a few that required her to kneel, roll, and crawl. She danced magnificently. It was as if she were moving sensuously to a tune only she could hear, proving her lethality could easily match her beauty. Haldir watched in stunned silence. He could deny it no longer. He was utterly, hopelessly, turned on by her.

She performed five back flips toward the center of the flet, all with her sword poised above her, and did not touch the ground with her hands. She simply held out her sword, one hand grasping the hilt, the other grasping the blade—her fingertips pinching the metal so she would not cut herself. She used the spring of her legs to propel herself, and finally landed on one knee next to the knife she had left lying where she had begun her exhibition. She picked up the knife and ran it along the metal of her sword, creating a V-shape with the two blades, decapitating another invisible enemy in front of her. The ring of the two blades echoed from the canopies. She stood, sheathing her sword at her hip and her knife on her thigh. She paused with her eyes closed for only a moment, then whipped her bow from her shoulder, caught the arrow she had shot as it fell back down from the heavens, spun once around as she loaded it, and aimed directly between Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. She did not fire it, as that would have been disrespectful. But the desired effect had been achieved. Haldir glanced down to see Lady Galadriel smiling proudly—something she did not do often. Galadriel stood and bowed to Cynda, and she bowed back, removing the arrow carefully from her bow and replacing it to her quiver. Galadriel called all of the cadets to stand before her, and Haldir descended to take his place next to his Lady. He could not help the wide smile he gave Cynda. He was immensely proud of her.

"Cadets," Galadriel pronounced, her voice low and calm. "Congratulations," she said, looking up the line at all of them. "You have all performed to the highest expectations of this court," she gestured behind her, to the respected members of her council, including her military officers. "I am proud to bestow upon you the responsibility of protecting this realm and her peoples, and I have every confidence in your abilities to do so. Haldir, the rings, please."

He ascended the stairs, and handed her a small chest, holding eight small rings. They were carved in the shape of a delicate vine, with three leaves, representing the Lord and Lady of Caras Galadhon, and the realm of Lothlorien. The petrified mellyrn bark from which they were carved had solidified into a pearlescent white. Galadriel went down the line of cadets, placing a ring on each of their left hands, and recited a promise in elvish to protect her wardens, which they repeated back, promising their lives to her kingdom. When she had finished, she once more ascended the stairs, and announced the company to which each warden would be assigned, based on their skill and the need of warriors on each border. Both Ehron and Cynda were assigned to the north. Cynda glanced over at Haldir, a brilliant smile spreading across her lips. Haldir smiled back, genuinely glad to have her with him. He saw a promising future for her in his company.

Galadriel bowed one final time, and dismissed the cadets. All of them broke into cheers and whistles, hugging and shaking hands with one another. Ehron ran over to Haldir, pulling him into a hug. Haldir laughed, but hugged him back. The boy was naïve, and very young, but he was caring and ambitious. Haldir felt certain he would learn much being in the company of the north. Cynda approached, and bowed her head respectfully. Haldir did the same, though the gaze they shared communicated far more than the gesture.

"Please, Haldir," Ehron said, his speech thickly accented with elvish. He was still learning the common tongue. "Join us in celebration. Tonight, we drink and make merry. Tomorrow, we join you in the north as marchwardens," he said, his smile beaming. Haldir smiled, and avoided Cynda's eyes.

"I am afraid I must respectfully decline. I am due to return to the north tonight," he said, and he could feel Cynda watching him.

"But Rumil and Orophin have agreed to stay! Please, have a drink with us. We make for the north in the morning." Haldir glanced over at his brothers, annoyance clear on his face. He had made it abundantly clear that they would be returning to the north after the ceremony. They were already headed for the tavern, amongst a group of cadets, and Rumil shrugged, feigning innocence. Haldir smiled, and shook his head.

"Apparently I'm staying," he said with a grin, and he could see Cynda smiling in his peripheral vision. Ehron pumped his fist in celebration. "I shall tell the others. They will be thrilled!" he turned to Cynda, and beckoned her. "Cynda, come! Drink with us!" he said, running after the group of graduates who were pushing Rumil and Orophin along with them. Haldir finally glanced over at her, and something in her eyes had changed. She was looking at him in a way he had never seen before.

"Congratulations, my lady. Your exhibition was one of the most thrilling I have seen," he said, and she nodded in appreciation.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, and glanced over at the throng of boys headed for the tavern. She began to walk in their direction, and glanced back over her shoulder, inviting him to escort her.

"Allow me to change out of these…" he motioned down at his garb. "Frivolous dressings. I will join you in the tavern," he said, and Cynda sauntered back toward him, grinning mischievously. "Oh, I think they are nice. Very regal," she said, her eyes wandering down his entire body, lingering in places. "One might even venture to say you look handsome," she said with a grin, and offered her arm for him to take. He hesitated, anxious to enter the tavern with her on his arm. He did not wish any scandal to follow them into the woods.

"Haldir, you would not leave this lady to go unaccompanied, would you?" Galadriel's voice pierced the air, and Haldir had to contain himself not to react. "I was under the assumption you were a man of honor," she said, her smile indicating the jesting nature of her statement.

"My Lady," he said, bowing to her. She nodded in return, and smiled pleasantly at Cynda, who cast her eyes to the ground, not wishing the Lady of the Forest to know of her advancements toward one of Lothlorien's highest ranking officers. Galadriel turned her gaze back to Haldir, and her voice was clear as day, though he knew only he could hear it.

_She is lovely, Haldir. Do not shy from her on account of perceived misconduct. It has been far too long since you knew happiness._ He did not acknowledge the interaction, as Cynda would have felt deceived, though he could not deny that he was relieved to have his Lady's approval. He simply wrapped his hand gently around Cynda's arm, and she smiled. They began to walk together, and Galadriel made her way quietly toward her dwelling. "Enjoy your revelry tonight, my friends," she said as she disappeared. Haldir clung tighter to Cynda's arm. There had been an ominous inflection to Galadriel's farewell. He knew all too well that there was very little left in this world to bring happiness to the realms of Elves and men.


	4. Chapter 4

**Content Warning: Mature! 18+ **

* * *

><p>To Haldir's surprise, no one had seemed to notice when he entered the tavern, Cynda on his arm. Though, to their credit, the graduates and his brothers seemed to already have a head start on the drinking. The tavern was lit by warm candlelight, and a few of the city's musicians played a cheerful tune from the corner. When Ehron caught sight of them, he beckoned them over to their table. He poured them generous servings of elvish wine, and Haldir balked at the sight. He had never been one to delight in the drink, and he couldn't honestly remember the last time he had touched the stuff. Cynda laughed and took her cup, finding a seat next to Ehron. Haldir grudgingly accepted the glass of wine and took the chair at the end of the table, holding his glass up to the graduates. They all cheered and tipped their glasses, drinking at a pace he knew to be unwise. They were celebrating their last night in Caras Galadhon, so he kept his opinion to himself. He sipped the elvish wine and grimaced. The first sip burned, but the aftertaste was quite pleasant.<p>

He continued to sip his wine as the cadets shared stories of their training, laughing at some, enthralled by others. Cynda shared what she thought appropriate of their venture to the north, knowing that her counterparts had never even seen an Orc before. The other cadets were captivated by her story, and continued to pour the wine. Haldir's cup never seemed to dwindle. When his thoughts grew fuzzy, he began to wonder how much he had drank. Rumil and Orophin were thrilled to see their uptight older brother finally partaking in the merriment of others.

Haldir wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when he stood to leave, Ehron wrapped an arm around his shoulders and begged him to stay. Cynda revealed a bottle of dwarvish liquor, to the delight of the other cadets.

"Come on, Haldir! One game!" she said, and the others cheered. She pulled a fake dwarf beard made of horse hair from behind the tavern's counter, which inspired another round of raucous laughter from the others. He knew the game she was referring to, and it was not one in which an officer of his stature should partake. Ehron pleaded, and he eventually conceded to stay, but not play the game. He was curious to taste the dwarvish liquor, anyhow.

He remained at the head of the table, and Cynda poured everyone a serving of the clear liquid from her bottle. He held it to his nose and sniffed, and everyone laughed at his reaction. Just the scent of it stung his senses. Cynda held up her glass and said a praise to Lothlorien in elvish. All of them repeated it, and downed their beverages in one gulp. Haldir shook his head, amazed at himself for even doing this, and downed the liquid. The cadets all watched in anticipation as he set the glass down on the table. It was clear they had never seen an officer partake of the drinking habits of the young ones. He held his breath for as long as he could muster after the first taste. If one could drink the molten metal of their battle armor, it would be but a pleasantry compared to the dwarvish liquor. He coughed and choked, and the cadets let out a barrage of howls and guffaws. Even he had to laugh along with them. The dwarves were a strange race, indeed.

He watched the cadets play their game, which involved a sequence of gestures passed around the table. The sequence grew longer, and discernably more lewd. The player who finally botched the sequence had to wear the beard and down another gulp of liquor, at which point a new sequence began. Cynda laughed and played along with the others, her gaze occasionally meeting his and then darting away. He accepted several more shots of the dwarvish liquor, to the delight of his brothers and Ehron. By the time the first round of the game ended, Ehron was wobbling from his chair occasionally, and even Haldir noticed that the room had started to spin. He glanced over at Cynda, and the inferno in her eyes caught him off guard. Even through the haze of intoxication, her intent was unmistakable. There was a desire in her that he had long wished to uncover, and the way her blue eyes seemed to ripple with energy… it sent a shiver down his spine and a burning, he'd daresay, lust. He stood quickly, congratulating the cadets on their achievement, and bade them farewell until morning. He was suddenly very uncomfortable with his own thoughts. He had to escape, otherwise the night could unfold in a regrettable manner.

By the time he reached his dwelling, the spinning had diminished considerably. He stopped in the doorway and realized how long it had been since he had stayed the night in Caras Galadhon. He sighed, also realizing _why_ he never stayed the night. The room was clean and welcoming, with one open side, allowing the moonlight to spread across the floor. He remembered with a wince how the light had seemed to glow as it caressed the skin of the woman who had slept next to him. He could still remember her breathing, her steady heartbeat as she slept. _That_ was why he never stayed.

He approached his dressing table, and removed his headdress and graduation ring. He washed his hands in the silver bowl on the table, and as he wiped his hands on the towel that was folded neatly beside it, he recognized an unmistakably feminine presence standing in the doorway. He folded the towel meticulously, and returned it to the countertop. He took one calming breath, and turned, leaning back against the table. Cynda was standing in the doorway, her eyes scouring his body. She walked confidently toward him, and his heart jumped when he saw the hunger in her eyes. Reminiscent of the wolf as it prowled…

She said nothing, merely closed the distance between them. When her lips met his, he brought his hand to the side of her neck, pulling her toward him. He couldn't hide how badly he wanted her. Not anymore. Her lips were soft, and as sweet as they were tempting. She leaned her body against his, and his other hand reached for her side, wrapping around her lower back and pulling her against him with a tantalizing pressure. She moaned into the kiss, and took his bottom lip between her teeth. He let out an unsteady sigh as he pulled back, his hands clenching into fists. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, trying desperately to get a hold of himself. That dwarvish liquor must have really done a number on his senses. He stood for a moment, his body rigid, and Cynda leaned back, her hand on his chest. She looked down, running her fingertips over the material of his dress robes, where she knew his wedding ring to be concealed.

"Haldir?" she said, her voice quiet. He opened his eyes, and she searched them for the answer to a question she did not wish to ask. "Have you…" she seemed to be struggling with her words. "Remained… faithful? To your wife?" she asked, and he looked down, not wishing to meet her gaze.

"Yes," he said quietly, and she could not mistake the guilt and shame in his voice. She immediately backed away, her eyes directed to the ground.

"Then, I must apologize, my lord," she said, with a small bow of her head. "I do not wish to insult her memory, nor tempt you to break your vow," she turned, trying to convince herself of her own words. She walked with purpose to the doorway, but stopped just outside, a long sigh escaping her lips. There was clearly a war raging between what she said and what she truly wanted.

Haldir remained where he stood, his own struggle boiling up inside him. He had been faithful through so many years, even though he knew he had been released of his vows the day his wife had made the journey west. It was only logical. In an immortal life, nothing could be promised forever. But the pain of her loss, and the loss of his child, had gripped him for so long, had burdened his heart for so many years, he had never considered any other way.

He crossed the room quietly, stopping just behind Cynda. He moved her hair gently from her neck, and draped it over one shoulder. He leaned down and kissed the exposed skin of her neck, cherishing the pulse of her heart beneath his lips. "And I will accept your apology, my lady, though I do not require it of you…" he whispered in her ear, echoing her words as they had been spoken, what felt like ages ago, by the pond that night. She turned, smiling happily. She knew what his words meant.

She kissed him deeply, and pushed him back inside the doorway, her hands working the ties of his dress robes. She pushed the garment from his shoulders, and he shrugged it away, his hands reaching for her once more. Her hands roamed his chest just as his gripped at her sides, moving down towards her hips. She pulled herself from the kiss, smiling and biting her lip playfully. She kicked off her boots, and inched closer. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers working diligently for a moment. She pulled his necklace from his neck, and his heart skipped a beat as he almost reached to take it from her. Sensing his tension, she placed it delicately on the table. Though the trinket was made of almost weightless metal, the weight that had been lifted was much greater. She sauntered back to him and leaned forward, whispering so her breath slithered past his ear.

"You've seen me take my clothes off," she said, leaning against him. He felt his cheeks burn red at the mention of that night. "Now I want you to take them off of me," she whispered, her breath hot against his cheek. He shuddered in response, and she grinned, happy with the reaction she had garnered. He obliged, and began untying the outer layer of her robes. He circled her, and pulled the garment from her shoulders, leaving her upper body entirely bare. He pressed himself behind her, wrapping his arms around her stomach. She slid her hands over top of his, guiding his hands over her skin just as she pushed herself back against his lower body. He shuddered once more, and groaned into her ear. She began to move her body against his as she guided his hands over her breasts. He massaged them with a steady pressure as he took her ear lobe into his mouth, sucking gently. She sighed, rolling her head back so he could explore the tender flesh of her neck with his lips and tongue. She pushed his hands down to the button of her pants, and he undid the clasp easily. She could hear his breaths growing ragged, and felt his hands trembling beneath hers. The realization struck her suddenly that he was nervous. Haldir, the iron-willed warden of the north, and champion of Lothlorien… was nervous.

"Uuma dela, melamin (It's okay, my love)," she whispered, and guided his hand lower, until he was stroking her with his fingertips. She sighed pleasurably, and moved her hips back against him. He sighed into her ear, and pressed himself against her as she moved. He teased her with his fingertips, and her breathing quickened as she reached a hand up to grasp at the back of his neck. He sucked at the skin of her neck as he pleasured her, until her breathing turned to panting and she forced herself hard against his body. He gasped into her ear, and she stepped suddenly away from him, spinning on her heel to face him. The intensity in her eyes seemed to sear his flesh, and he felt paralyzed by the sight. She advanced on him and whipped his belt from his pants. She took little care with the button of his pants, and he whimpered as she took him into her hand, applying a feverish pressure where he craved it most. His knees almost buckled and he wobbled slightly, his forehead resting on her shoulder, his hands grasping her upper arms for support. She pressed her breasts against his chest as she stroked him, and kissed the skin of his neck, just above his shoulder. He moaned her name, his hands clutching at her arms, and she increased the speed of her stroking. He gasped and bit down gently on her shoulder, just enough to leave a pink crescent moon shape on her skin. She pushed him back, hard, another devilish grin on her lips. She hooked her thumbs on the waistband of her pants and pushed them to the floor, kicking them away. Haldir's eyes seemed to weaken at the sight of her. She grabbed his wrist, stopping him as he went to touch himself. She licked along his collarbone, and guided his hands once more to the soft flesh of her lower back. He pulled her against him, and she could taste the desperation in his kiss as he pressed his lips to hers once more. He whimpered against her mouth as she pushed his pants the rest of the way from his body. Her hands roamed his sides, tracing the hard muscles of his torso. She dragged her fingernails lightly down his sides, and grasped his butt firmly.

He shoved her back, and she landed on the bed, her elbows propping her up. He crawled on top of her, pressing his powerful body against hers as his lips collided with hers. He groaned into the kiss, and she could feel his entire body beginning to tremble. His fingers hooked behind her knee, and he pulled her leg up to wrap around his side. He kissed her bottom lip gently, and let out a shaky breath as he entered her. She threw her head back, arching her back and clawing at his sides. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as he moved his hips, tiny sounds of pleasure escaping his lips. His entire body shook from the sensations washing over him, and he pulled back, locking eyes with her as he pushed deep inside of her. She moved her hands over her own breasts, and squirmed pleasurably beneath him. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He had not felt such an immense desire for so long… now that he finally had her, the one who had been taunting him for weeks… he had to consciously contain the beast that threatened to overtake him.

Cynda rocked her hips forward, and pushed away from the bed, her hand pressed against his chest. She pushed him sideways, until he was sitting and she was straddling his lap. She lowered herself onto him, and he let out another loud groan as he wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her body toward him. He took one of her nipples into his mouth, and she clawed at his back in response. His shaking had intensified, until all he could do was rest his forehead against her chest, trying to slow his breathing as it came in long gasps. After not feeling this kind of passion for nearly a century… she could not imagine what sensations were gripping his body. Clearly, he was struggling to keep them in check.

Cynda reached down, grasping his wrist, and brought his hand up to her mouth. She drew his chin up with her other hand, and stared into his sea blue eyes as she took his index and middle fingers into her mouth. His bottom lip quivered as he let out a long sigh, watching her intently. She sucked his fingers, illustrating the talent of her tongue, and planted one soft final kiss on his fingertips. He grinned, and tilted his head slightly, intrigued.

"You. Are. _Magnificent_," he whispered, wrapping his hand around her neck and pulling her in for a deeper kiss, just as he spun her around, his strong body once more pressing down against her. She gripped his sides with her thighs as he pushed hard into her, and his steadily increasing pace indicated that his release was building quickly. Cynda pulled him close, her fingernails clawing at the hot skin of his back. Her breaths were coming in gasps, just as his were, and she arched her back, her stomach grazing his as a sweet moan of pleasure escaped her lips. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and planted wet kisses along her neck and collarbone. He began to whimper with every thrust, until he was muttering her praises in elvish, his lips still pressed against her shoulder. She wrapped her hand around his neck, grasping a handful of his blond hair.

"Tula yassen amin (come with me)," she whispered, licking lightly up the curve of his ear. He moaned longingly in response, and thrust inside her harder and faster. He wrapped one hand around her back, grasping her butt and pulling her hard against him. The heat and friction of their bodies caused both to cling tightly to one another. Cynda let loose a curse in Sindarin, her hands clawing at his back, and as she began to shake with pleasure, the writhing of her body sent him over the edge as well. He cried out, unable to suppress the much-needed release as it coursed through him. Pure ecstasy pulsated through his every muscle, wracking his body until he collapsed on top of her, surprised to feel sweat beading at the back of his neck. Very little in this world could make an elf sweat. The heaving of Cynda's chest and the dampness of her skin was evidence that she had endured much the same experience.

Haldir remained with his head on her chest, listening to the racing of her heart as it tried to recover itself. Cynda stroked his long blond hair, and held him close as he shivered. He leaned up and placed a soft kiss on her lips after several moments had passed, and the passion in the kiss communicated enough of what both were feeling but could not find the words to express. He lay beside her, their legs still entangled, and relished the feeling of another warm, beautiful being beside him. He had not realized how much he missed this. He was pulled into the deepest sleep he had felt in many years.


	5. Chapter 5

The northern company departed at sunrise the following day, making their way on foot to their station. They spent three days scouting the northern border, and met up at night to enjoy their food and drink together, and to rest in the safety of numbers. Comradery had always been present among the wardens, but it had never seemed so alive until Cynda and Ehron joined. Unencumbered by the formality of his training regimen, Ehron blossomed with vitality, even daring to pull a few pranks on his fellow wardens. Cynda seemed endlessly amused by his antics, her sweet laughter filling the forest.

She and Haldir had, of course, kept their dalliance in Caras Galadhon a secret, though Cynda's occasional sly grin and flirtatious stare weakened his resolve. He barely managed a day before her body beckoned him again. He broke all of his own personal convictions, sending the others away on patrol so he could make love to her under the waterfall at the pond where they had had their first encounter. She could dismantle his will with the slightest glance, make him behave irrationally. What was worse—he was happy to do it. He had never been so rash, even in his younger days. Always the dutiful soldier. But this girl… she was unlike anyone he had ever met. She was smart, tactful—a true warrior of Lothlorien. But she was also wild and sensuous, kind and loving. She would sneak to his side every night, resting her head on his chest and falling asleep in his arms. And with every morning sun she would wake, before the others, to sneak away before they were discovered. With every passing morning and every separation from her, his heart ached more. After only four days in the forest, he was struck hard by the realization that his feelings for her had deepened. She brought him joy that he had not felt in many years.

He should have known it would never last. On the fifth morning, he was shocked awake by Lady Galadriel's voice, clear and urgent in his mind. "Tula Caras Galadhon. Sii' (To Caras Galadhon. Now)." Haldir bolted upright, instantly worried. He had thought he was the only one to hear her words—her summons were usually only sent to commanding officers. But, as he soon realized, his entire company was awake, the same anxiety clear in their expressions. He didn't have time to panic at the fact that they had all seen Cynda next to him. They all took off at a run, heading for home. What on earth would cause Lady Galadriel to summon all of her marchwardens? It had never been done before…

They arrived within minutes, traversing a course that should have taken hours. With an impending dread, Haldir noticed that the wardens from every border were descending on Caras Galadhon, not just the north. Never in his years had he seen their entire border protection recalled to the city.

He bounded to the great hall, and joined the other officers kneeling before their Lord and Lady. His company lined the flet with the other border patrols.

"My wardens, I thank you for your haste," Lady Galadriel spoke, and all of her officers directed their attention to her as she descended the stairs to stand before them. Haldir's brow furrowed as he beheld the sight of her. She looked… weary.

"I am afraid it is with a reluctant heart that I address you all," she said, and bade her officers stand. "I have been at council with Lord Elrond of Rivendell late through the night. He brings word of terrible strife among the realms of men. Lord Theoden, King of Rohan, has led refugees to the safety of the Hornburg, and now faces an army of ten thousand Uruk-Hai that descend upon them. His forces are tired and poorly prepared. I fear they will not prevail," she said, her voice clearly burdened by her words. Haldir followed her movement as she paced slowly up the line of officers. Why should the wars of men sway the actions of the elves? Clearly, the other officers appeared to be struggling with the same question, because Galadriel pulled her chin up, her presence commanding.

"The bloodshed of man has never smeared our amour. Save once. As Lord Elrond has so vehemently maintained, our world as we know it would not exist without the bravery of the elves and men who fought, side by side. Should this darkness be allowed to consume the realms of men, it will then come for the elves. It will swallow our beloved forest. Our homes will burn. Our children will never know the eternity of their birthright," she spoke harshly, but her words rang true. As Haldir began to understand what this meant for Lothlorien, an entirely new brand of terror seized his heart.

"Haldir," Galadriel said, and he was ripped from his reverie. He stepped forward, bowing his head in respect. "I bestow upon you the title of _Nikerym _(Captain)," he bowed, unable to utter words of gratitude before she proceeded. "I hereby establish the Galadhrim, Royal Army of Lothlorien. You will depart immediately, with an army of three hundred strong, and make haste to Helm's Deep. All marchwardens are hereby enlisted in the Galadhrim, and are to follow Haldir's command…" she seemed to stop mid-sentence, her words suddenly hung in her throat.

"And…" her voice had softened considerably. "Upon your return, you will be subjects of Lord Celeborn alone. He will remain in Caras Galadhon, as I make the journey to the Undying Lands,"

A hush fell over the entire hall—no, all of Lothlorien. The Lady of the Golden Wood was leaving. The news hit everyone with even more force than her command to send three hundred elven lives into the fray. Haldir's eyes darted to Lord Celeborn, who stood statue still. Haldir knew all too well the heartache he was hiding.

Galadriel seemed to hesitate for only a moment, then ascended the stairs once more, looking down one last time upon her subjects. "It has been my honor to serve as your Lady of Light. I would see my forces honor me with my final command. Go, now." And with her words, her officers jumped into action, fleeing from the flet toward the armory. All except her captain. He stood in the center of the hall, his heart racing as fear gripped him like an impending storm.

Before his brain could catch up to his mouth, he stepped forward, blurting "My Lady," and Galadriel turned, shocked that it would be her most loyal soldier who had not obeyed. He didn't know how his words would affect those he loved, but he knew what had to be done. Cynda could not be allowed to go to Helm's Deep. He had been drowning for so long. He had finally found something pure to hold onto, breathed in her life. If anything happened to her… if he was forced to let go again… he didn't think he could endure it.

"May I request that Cynda be assigned to Lord Celeborn's personal guard?" he hated the words as they left his lips. He felt as if he were betraying everything Cynda had meant to him. But she had to understand. He had to protect her.

Galadriel seemed taken aback by the question, if only momentarily. She looked from Haldir to Cynda, who stood behind him, among the company of the north. She knew. Lady Galadriel knew of his feelings for Cynda, knew his motivations for requesting her transfer to the only forces that were permanent to Caras Galadhon.

"Very well," Galadriel said, and turned without another word. Haldir immediately turned and made for the armory, refusing to meet Cynda's eyes. He could feel the fire of her stare as he passed.

When he reached the armory, one of the other wardens greeted him with the red cloak of the _Nikerym_. He took the garment, running his hands over the material. So much had happened so quickly, he had hardly had time to appreciate his new station. Somehow, he still could not bring himself to admire it. The cloak was a color that proved entirely impractical when fighting among the trees. But this fight would take him far from the grey mellyrn trees. Far from his beloved forest. He tossed the garment aside and began applying the silver battle armor of Lothlorien. Ehron dressed next to him, and his heart hurt for the boy. He wished he could send them all away, far away. Ehron, his brothers, Cynda. He wished none of them had to see the horrors of what lie ahead.

Ehron offered to secure the red cloak around his neck, and he accepted. He caught a glimpse in the mirror. He didn't even look like himself.

"How dare you," Cynda's voice came from the doorway, and Haldir sighed, tightening the last of the straps on his wrist brace. He looked up at Ehron, who bowed and slipped quietly passed Cynda. Haldir turned, and tried to find the words to explain. He needed her to understand. He had heard stories of elves dying of a broken heart. The worst demise for an immortal. If anything happened to her…

"Cynda," he said, trying to be as gentle with his words as possible. Before he could continue, she closed the distance between them and slapped him hard across the face. Tears clouded her eyes, and her lower lip trembled. The sight of her so distressed pained him far more than the strike of her hand.

"After everything I've worked for. Everything I've done… Everything we've been through," her voice was cracking as she spoke. She stared him down, the tears spilling down her cheeks. He couldn't find anything to say that would soothe those tears.

"You would have me stay here? Watch you ride away, just like you watched your wife? You wish that on me?" her words stung. Of course he didn't wish that for her. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. He placed a gentle hand on her arm, and stepped forward.

"Cynda, please, I…" his words were cut off as she flung his hand from her, and pushed him away, a sob escaping her lips.

"Uuma tula neva amin! (Don't touch me!)" She stood for a moment, the betrayal clear in her eyes. She turned and walked purposefully from the room, and he felt a void rip open within his heart, ten thousand times worse than it had been before. He sank down to sit on the bench in the armory, his head in his hands. The weight of his immediate future hung heavy on his shoulders. Lady Galadriel was leaving. He had broken Cynda's heart in an attempt to preserve his own. And now he must depart for Helm's Deep, to face an army of ten thousand Uruk-Hai with only three hundred elves and the weakened forces of Rohan behind him.

He pushed himself from his seat, and let his feet carry him. There was one last thing he had to do.

He cursed the clinking of his armor as he entered the stables. It was a harsh reminder of his impending departure, possibly forever, from Lothlorien. Quellson stood quietly in a stall, the golden sunlight of dawn lighting his magnificent silver coat. Haldir was hit with a pang of agony as Quellson nickered upon seeing his rider.

"Vedui' aratoamin (Greetings, my champion)," he said, his hand stroking the animal's powerful neck. Quellson nuzzled his head into Haldir's chest. He stood for several moments, relishing the soft fur of his horse's cheekbone.

"Tula yassen amin, mellon (Come with me, friend)" he said, walking out into the light of morning, Quellson following obediently. They walked together to the edge of the city, and Quellson buried his head in Haldir's arms. Haldir sighed deeply, cherishing the animal's loyalty. He knew there was no time to waste; he needed to leave with his army immediately. But this… this was something he could not rush.

He looked up when he heard footsteps approaching. It was Cynda, dressed in the Galadhrim battle armor, not the dress of the Royal Guard. She had disobeyed him. He sighed, looking back at Quellson.

"He has given me many years of his life," he said, his words directed at Cynda but his eyes remaining on Quellson's shimmering fur. "Whether I… return from Helm's Deep or not… his service to the elves is finished. I owe him that," he said, running his hands through Quellson's thick forlock. Cynda remained silent. Haldir leaned forward, kissing Quellson's forehead. "Auta, voronwer. Vanya sulie ie'lle quenle (Go, loyal one. Fair winds at your back)," he said, patting Quellson's strong shoulder. The horse perked his ears, listening to something in the distant forest, and trotted happily in that direction. He stopped after several paces, looking back. The cool morning air made the long sigh that escaped his nostrils fog the air like dragon's breath. Haldir sighed, looking down at the ground, feeling the very real severance from his beautiful companion. When he looked up, Quellson's long tail could just barely be seen as it disappeared through the trees. Haldir stood for a moment, mentally preparing himself to face the other beautiful creature in his presence.

"What are you doing?" he asked, motioning to her armor, the agitation clear in his voice. He was in no mood to argue with her again.

"I am joining the rest of the Galadhrim on the journey to Helm's Deep," she said, her hand resting gently on her sword, hilted at her hip. He observed the lustrous silver metal of armor, and though she looked radiant in it, he wanted nothing more than for her to cast aside that cursed gear. Return to the safety of the trees.

"I spoke with Lady Galadriel," she continued, and Haldir's eyes widened with shock. She had circumvented the direct order of her captain, and held an audience with the Lady of the Forest—something that was reserved only for commanding officers. Both offences were severely punishable by law. And yet, here she stood, dressed in battle armor, looking confident as ever. What could she possibly have said to convince Lady Galadriel?

"I made it clear that you were not to depart for the Hornburg without me at your side. I insisted that I would serve the Galadhrim with honor, and protect her kin with my last breath," Haldir grimaced, imagining just what horrors would draw that breath from her.

"And… I told her that if she forced me to stay… I would be of very little use to Lord Celeborn's personal guard. Seeing as how… I am in love with you…" Haldir's breath caught in his throat. Her words pierced straight to the heart of him. He knew how he had felt about her. Hearing the words, spoken from those beautiful lips… it took him entirely by surprise.

"And, as I explained myself to our Lady," she was slowly advancing on him, a stern expression on her face. "I realized that, though I did not appreciate your actions, I could not fault you for doing exactly what I would have done. You were motivated by much the same sentiment as I am now," she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace, and he held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. He wanted to cling to her here, in his beloved forest, and never let go.

"I know you are afraid. But not for yourself. For me, and for the others" she said, pulling back and looking deep into his icy blue eyes. "And that is why I must go with you. If you do not fear for yourself, who will?" she clung to his neck, tears welling in her eyes. He was overwhelmed by the passion in her words, and pulled her in for a desperate kiss. She was right. He was afraid. More afraid than he had ever felt before. And even though he was angered by her defiance, tormented by the thought of her ever fighting an Orc army, he wanted her with him. He wanted her by his side as they faced the toughest fight any army of Lothlorien had ever seen. He remembered how they had seemed to fight as one in the forest, surrounded by Orcs. How comforted he had felt with her at his back. He could only hope that the warmth of her heart could endure the cold, stone fortress that would be their battlefield.


	6. Chapter 6

The march to Helm's Deep was a journey that, if made by man on horseback, would have taken the better part of six days. Haldir knew his company, however, and rather than traverse Fangorn Forest, they kept to the mountains, negotiating terrain that would have been impassable by any peoples other than the nimble and light-footed elves. Their pace was staggering, and they did not stop for food or rest. But most of his army had survived many years as marchwardens—living solely off of what the Lothlorien forest offered. They were strong and resilient, and they required little in the ways of sustenance. They could hunt an Orc party for weeks, alone, picking off their targets one by one until nothing remained, not even a blood stain upon the fallen leaves. Yes, this was a valiant army, indeed. The people of Rohan had been backed into a corner, and would soon be trapped in their own stoney grave. If any army could protect the lives of those innocents, it was this one.

Within two days, they beheld the sight of the Hornburg upon the horizon. They marched in silence, and as the sun set and darkness descended, they approached the massive fortress, forming ranks and brandishing the flags of their homeland. Ehron sounded the horn, knowing that their presence may go entirely unnoticed in the darkness of night. The gates swung open, and Haldir could not help his sidelong glance at the stone archway over the wooden doors—a gaping mouth that seemed to swallow up all who entered there. So foreign to the elves was stone. It did not breathe with life as their forest did, did not alight when touched by the sun. Nonetheless, they would fight here as if it were their own home.

His troops marched in tandem, their bows held at the ready. Rohan's forces stared in awe, some excited by the offer of help, others disbelieving. Haldir felt his steps were slow and heavy as he approached King Theoden. Their first meeting was not under the kindest of circumstances. How he wished they were.

He bowed to the King, who stood bewildered. "How is this possible?" the King whispered, and Haldir felt a new level of pride in his people and the leadership of their elders. Their aid was sorely needed here.

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell," he said, his memory pulled to what he knew of the battles fought long ago, when the ring had been severed from Sauron's hand. A fight that had allowed him, along with the rest of Middle Earth, the life they knew now. "An alliance once existed between elves and men. Long ago we fought… and died together," he said, his attention pulled from the startled King to the Dunedain and Elvenprince as they emerged from the corridors of the Hornburg. Though he was proud to see Prince Legolas, he could not deny his confidence in Lord Aragorn—the only human who had ever struck him with awe. He was truly an honorable man. Haldir's next words were directed almost entirely to Aragorn, rather than King Theoden. "We come to honor that allegiance."

Aragorn descended the stairs, clearly not believing his own eyes. "Mae govannen, Haldir (Welcome)" he said, bowing and offering a welcoming hand. Haldir returned the gesture, but before he could say anything more, he was pulled into a warm embrace. He was taken aback for a moment, then returned the gesture with a smile. He had been getting a lot of hugs as of late. He welcomed them all.

Aragorn pulled back, but his hand hovered on Haldir's arm, as if he were still trying to convince himself this was real. "You are most welcome," Aragorn said, stepping back and allowing the Prince to step forward. He locked arms with Haldir, in a gesture of mutual respect. The Galadhrim turned in unison, acknowledging the status of their royalty.

"We are proud to fight alongside men once more," Haldir said, his chin held high. Though he feared for his company, and for the future of the realm, he could not imagine being anywhere but here. Had they remained hidden within their forest, or barricaded themselves within Caras Galadhon, they would have watched the great shadow envelope the sky, until no sunlight ever warmed their skin again. If Helm's Deep fell this night, Middle Earth would fall.

The speechless King finally spoke, but his voice was hoarse and tired. "And we are proud to have you. We have little time. But surely your men are weary. Come inside, you can replenish yourselves and make ready," he said, and Haldir had to keep himself from correcting the King. Not _all _of his forces were men. All but one.

The Galadhrim did not accept any offers of food or drink—resources were scarce enough. The refugees needed everything they had. Haldir could tell his troop was indeed tired, though they appeared immortal as ever to the eyes of men. He himself felt drained and heavy, though he knew it was not the journey that made him ache so. It was fear and homesickness.

He told his army to rest themselves, and await his command. He followed Aragorn, Legolas, and the dwarf as they joined King Theoden in the great hall. Schematics of the Hornburg lay strewn all over the tabletops, along with maps of the outlying lands. King Theoden glanced over the papers, and sighed.

"We have our forces stretched thin over top of the Deeping Wall. Our archers are not nearly as… skilled as yours," the King said, struggling with the right words. Haldir smiled. No, their archers were not possibly as skilled as his.

"In light of your arrival, I propose pulling back all of our archers to the gate, to serve as infantry if need be, and allowing the Galadhrim to defend from the Wall. You can line your forces three deep, and should be able to stretch at least fifty abreast. The first volleys of arrows will engage a considerable amount," the King said, looking to Haldir for approval. Though he knew his many years provided more insight than the meager mortal years the King had endured, he kept his opinions to himself. After all, this was a King he was speaking to, and he knew the Hornburg far better than any elf ever would.

"Very well," Haldir said, and King Theoden paused, clearly not expecting an elf to be so accommodating. He nodded, and glanced down at the maps once more, tapping them with the tip of a short blade. "I had Lord Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli also stationed on the wall. That is our first defense—to keep the enemy from advancing on the causeway," he said, glancing up at Aragorn. "It is your choice to fight on the wall or join Rohan's forces at the gate."

Legolas hesitated only a moment, then stepped forward. "I will fight with the Galadhrim," he said, and Haldir nodded in appreciation. The dwarf, Gimli, as Haldir was reminded, stepped forward as well. "Not getting rid of me that easily, elf," he said, his words directed at Legolas, who smiled in response. Haldir was absolutely baffled by the exchange. Only weeks ago, when they had visited Lothlorien, the two had not seemed overly fond of each other. The dwarf was brave, though, he had to admit. The Wall would surely take more damage than the fortress itself.

"I had Aragorn commanding the forces at the Wall…" Theoden spoke again, this time glancing up at Haldir, his tone questioning. Clearly, he was anxious to even suggest Haldir relinquish his command. Haldir grinned, still feeling uncomfortable in his new role of Captain anyway.

"Manka lle merna (If you wish)," he said to Aragorn, before realizing the impropriety of speaking a foreign tongue in front of King Theoden. "I entrust my forces to Lord Aragorn. His command is as capable as any," he said, and Aragorn bowed, clearly flattered. Theoden again seemed shocked at the obliging nature of the elf Captain. Haldir mentally chided his race. How tense had relations between elves and men truly become? The blame lay equally in elven hands.

"It's settled then," the King said, sheathing his knife. "The Galadhrim will fight from the Wall, under the command of Lord Aragorn. I will command from the Burg," he said, and dismissed the officers. Haldir bade Aragorn and the others a farewell, and left to find his company. He did not know where Cynda and Ehron would be stationed. He had to find them before the battle. He swallowed all further thought on the matter as he made his way through the corridors. The idea of seeing them again, and it possibly being the last…

He found Cynda and Ehron sitting with Rumil and Orophin, smiling and talking as if they were once more gathered around a fire in the northern forests. It warmed his heart to see them all together again. He had not spoken to any of them since they had left Lothlorien, the journey had been too important. How it had seemed so long ago.

As he approached, he noticed Cynda handing something back to Ehron, who tucked the object quickly in his robes. Haldir could not help but smile. "Ehron, mani naa tanya? (What is that?)" he said, his tone reprimanding, though it was accompanied by a grin. Cynda was giggling, and Haldir cherished the sound. Ehron pulled a small silver flask from his robes, sulking. Haldir knew exactly what it was. That cursed dwarvish liquor.

"Ona ta a'amin (give it to me)" he said, holding out a hand. Ehron's shoulders sank and he handed over the flask. Haldir twisted the cap from it and took a long gulp, to which he received delighted squeals and giggles from the others. He hissed against the burn of the liquor, and glanced up and down the corridor for any Rohan forces that might catch sight of them. He returned the cap and handed it back to Ehron.

"Don't let anyone see you with that," he said, and Ehron smiled wide, which Haldir returned. This was undoubtedly the toughest fight they would ever see. Even he could use a drink.

Haldir sat down next to Cynda, and laced his fingers with hers, as her hand was behind her back. The comfort he found there surprised even him. How the gesture seemed so simple, and yet here, surrounded by cold stone walls and air thick with impending dread… the touch of her skin was like ripples of sunlight on water. He glanced around at his company, hoping no one had seen his actions. Ehron seemed to be the only one who noticed his proximity to her. He had seen them arguing in the armory in Lothlorien, however. He had to know something by now. But, rather than say anything, he simply smiled and diverted his gaze. Haldir was struck with a glowing pride. He really did like that kid.

Mere minutes passed before Haldir felt a change in the air. It wasn't anything that could be explained through the senses of men. It was more an innate connection between the earth and the elves. And the earth felt suddenly very scared.

Haldir bolted upright, and his company followed suit. "Khila amin (follow me)," he said, and walked briskly to the mouth of the Hornburg. He glanced up, only to see Legolas and Aragorn descending the stairs. They had felt it too.

"Sii, gurth gothrim lye (Now, our enemies will know death)," Haldir said, and Legolas nodded. The Uruk-Hai would be upon them within the hour. Rohan's forces began to scurry about, clearly unhinged. The Galadhrim remained lining the stone walls, awaiting instructions. Haldir bowed his head to Aragorn, officially turning over his command. Aragorn nodded, and turned to face the Galadhrim. He commanded them in Elvish, instructing them to line the Deeping Wall three deep clear across the wall, and an auxiliary force to gather behind it. The elves sprang into action, and their methodical approach to forming ranks seemed to guide and calm the frightened Rohan forces, some of whom, Haldir noticed with a chill, were only children. His eyes found his brothers as they disappeared toward the Wall. He went to follow them, but was stopped as Cynda grasped his arm. She pulled him around for a quick, passionate kiss. He knew this was most improper, but found that he didn't care.

"Tira ten' rashwe. Amin mela lle (Be careful. I love you)," she said, a determination in her eyes he had never seen before. He nodded, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He knew he should say it back. But it felt more like a farewell than a profession of his true feelings. He could not slander the most sacred of elvish phrases if it did not denote what he wished.

"Tenna' ento lye omenta (Until I see you again)," he uttered, grasping her shoulder. She nodded, understanding. This way it was more a promise than a farewell. He backed away from her, his eyes still locked with hers, until finally he turned to join Aragorn on the Wall.

The Galadhrim forces were almost all aligned and standing at the ready. Aragorn was halfway down the Wall, with Legolas and the dwarf by his side. Aragorn nodded when he saw Haldir's approach.

"Cuamin linduva yassen megrille, melloneamin (My bow shall sing with your sword, my friends)," he said, to which both Legolas and Aragorn nodded. Haldir pulled his attention to the dwarf, and nodded to him as well.

"Lle naa belegohtar, aier. I'narr en gothrim glinuva nuin I'anor (You are a mighty warrior, short one. The bones of our enemies shall gleam under the sun)," he said with a teasing grin, knowing full well that the dwarf did not understand elvish. Gimli glanced up at Legolas, who was grinning as well. "What did he say?" he barked, his eyes darting back to Haldir with suspicion. "If he wants to insult a dwarf he'd better do it in…"

"He paid you a compliment, Gimli," Legolas interrupted, smiling down at his friend. Gimli stopped, his hand resting on the top of his axe. He nodded to Haldir, but the gesture appeared only half-genuine. "Aye, when an Orc sprouts wings," he said under his breath, and Haldir chuckled. He patted Aragorn on the shoulder as he passed and bowed once more to the Prince, making his way to his position further down the wall. He found Ehron on the front line, and stood by him. He finally glanced out over the barren land that lay before the Deeping Wall, and he could just barely make out the thundering of Orc feet in the distance. He knew Cynda had been assigned to the auxiliary forces behind the wall. He wished that she were with him. But it had ultimately been Aragorn's discretion to disperse the forces however he saw fit. She may be safer there, anyway. If the Wall was breeched, they may still have time to retreat to the Hornburg.

Thunder rumbled above, and the clouds blackened the sky. Neither starlight nor moonlight would grace their battlefield. A bad omen, to the elves. The rain began quickly, and pattered quietly against the metal armor of all who stood watch. The lightning began to flash, illuminating the stone around them. Mother earth was distressed, indeed.

With every flash, the black mass of Orcs drew nearer, until their torches and spears could be seen by human eyes. Their march was unsteady, resulting in a constant rumbling beneath their feet. Their growls and snarls echoed against the walls, just as their leader mounted a large stone from which to command. Haldir felt one last chill run through him, before he banished every thought of the elves and men around him. Aragorn, Legolas, Ehron. His brothers, Cynda. The countless wardens who had been his friends for so many years in the forest. Everyone he cared about. Though they had graced his memories, brightened his days for so long, they could no longer cling to his heart. His attention must be on the enemy alone.

Aragorn paced the lines of elves, his voice commanding. "A Eruchîn, ú-dano aye faelas a hyn, an uben tanatha le faelas! (Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none!)"

The Orc army halted in response to a long roar from their commander. Their forces seemed to pulse with hatred and cruel intent. Even the pelting rain and blowing wind could not alleviate the stench of death. The Orc commander howled again, and his forces began slamming their spears repeatedly against the ground. Aragorn drew his sword, and the Rohan archers made ready their bows from their position at the Burg. The Orcs growled and beat at their armor with their fists—the noise deafening as it reverberated against the stone of the keep.

A single arrow flew from above the gates, and buried itself in the neck of an Orc at the front of the lines. Aragorn shouted above the noise, "Dartho! (Hold!)," and all watched in stunned silence as the Orc fell dead. The Uruk-Hai erupted into snarls of anger, and their commander roared one final time. They began to rush the wall, their spears held out before them.

"Tangado a chalad! (Prepare to fire!)" Aragorn ordered, and Haldir pulled an arrow, loading it carefully. His company followed suit in unison. He pulled back the string, allowing the feathers to graze his cheek as he often did. He couldn't help but recall the shot he had taken under the duress of Lord Celeborn's spell, so many weeks ago in Caras Galdhon. Rain, wind… how the circumstances now were so similar. Though, the sinking of his arrows into the throat of an Orc would be far more satisfying than the straw target in the forest. He found his mark—an Orc leading the charge, and took aim at the edge of its neck, just above the armor. As the dark army approached the wall, Aragorn swung his sword forward, and ordered the first volley. Haldir let the string of his bow slide with a flick of his fingertips. It felt as if everything leading up to this moment released with it. His loves, his fears, his life in Lothlorien… they cut through the air with that first arrow. Nothing existed now. Nothing but stone and blood and Orc flesh.


	7. Chapter 7

Aragorn ordered fire at will, and the archers of Lothlorien rained arrows down upon the Orc army. Not one failed its aim—every arrow lodged deep within the chest, neck, or head of its intended target, cracking bone and spraying the gravel with putrid blood. And though the archers' fire was faster even than the crack of lightning above them, the Uruk-Hai seemed undeterred by the bodies of their kin. They trampled their own fallen soldiers without regard. It seemed only to fuel their rage.

Hundreds of Orcs fell upon the first volley of arrows, but yet their forces came in waves, as the sea of them crashed forward, reaching the wall in seconds. They pulled crossbows, and Haldir felt his own rage boil up inside him as the first of his army were shot, some falling from the wall. Hundreds, possibly thousands of years of knowledge, joy, and love… ended in an instant. With every elven life that was lost, their race suffered. They felt it in their bones.

He released his arrows as quickly as his muscles would allow. He did not even watch the last arrow to ensure a hit before he pulled the next—he knew his aim was true. He readjusted with every shot, trying to thin the front lines and pile up the bodies, slowing the advancement of their ranks. It was in vain. Before long they had mounted their ladders upon the wall and were crawling, like insects, toward the awaiting archers. Aragorn ordered swords drawn. Haldir shouldered his bow, and drew Silme, his ancient elven blade. The first Orc didn't even place a finger on the wall before Silme was thrust clear through one of its eyes and out the back of its skull. Haldir put his weight into the thrust, pushing the Orc's body down the ladder and pulling Silme from its head, so that the Orc's dead weight would dismantle those below it. He kicked the ladder, and it fell easily, just as another was righted next to it, in front of Ehron. Haldir heard the first clangs of Orc blades against elven steel from all around him. Uruk-Hai had breached the wall near Aragorn and Legolas, and he could hear more behind him, further down the wall. Ehron had his sword drawn, cutting down Orcs as they spilled over the top of the ladder. Haldir joined him, slicing across the chest of an Orc that had made it past Ehron.

He had always known Orcs to be easily defeated by elves—they were slow, blundering creatures and their attacks were rarely deadly. They did not swing their swords with precision, as the elves did. They simply careened their blades about, looking to contact any flesh they could find. And even though these Orcs proved no exception, their sheer numbers seemed to overwhelm the wall entirely. With every Orc that fell dead, three more rampaged over the edge of the ladders, snarling and swinging black blades. Haldir and Ehron tried to stop the flow of them from the ladders, but there were too many. Haldir had resolved himself to disallow any Orcs from contacting the auxiliary forces behind the wall. Cynda was down there. But with a stabbing regret, he found himself kicking and throwing Orcs, still alive, over the back ledge, just so he could maintain his attention on the ladders. He sheathed Silme and drew his bow once more, knowing his arrows were faster than his blade. The bow was not a very good close-contact weapon, though, as it left the chest of its possessor entirely exposed.

"Ehron, yassen amin! (With me!)" Haldir yelled, and Ehron flanked him as he fired, protecting his vulnerable Captain. Haldir loosed his arrows toward the top of two separate ladders, halting the progression of Orcs entirely. Ehron engaged the Orcs that were already surrounding them, his sword deflecting all comers from both himself and his Captain. Haldir had only a moment of growing confidence, before he reached back and found his quiver empty. He threw his bow to the ground, and pulled Silme once more.

"Diola lle, Ehron. Mae pennen! (Thank you. Well done!)," he shouted, and Ehron grinned, his sword held at the ready next to Haldir's.

"I was trained by the best," he nodded, and they shared a smile before rushing the ladders. They could vaguely make out Aragorn screaming something over the sound of their blades. Haldir glanced down to see the Elvenprince firing arrows down into the attacking army, trying to bring down a large Orc charging through the crowd, a strange torch in its clutches. Legolas's arrows found their mark, but the brute maintained its course. Haldir watched it disappear beneath the wall, and within an instant, everything changed.

He and Ehron were knocked from their feet, and watched in horror as a massive explosion threw stone, dirt, and the lifeless bodies of elves and Orcs alike high into the air. Haldir jumped up, and watched as the black mass of Orcs congested at the newly opened entrance. He noticed with some shock that their advancement was slowed by a single dwarf, alone at the precipice. _Gimli!_. The small soldier swung his axe, dropping more enemies than Haldir had ever seen even an elf manage. But he was soon overrun, falling back into the muddy water of the Deeping Stream. Aragorn's voice was not nearly as confident as it had been, when he ordered the auxiliary forces to fire upon the opening. He feared for his friend.

Panic set in as the Orc army flooded the gaping hole in the wall. Aragorn ordered the auxiliary forces to charge, and together they raced forward, swords drawn. Within an instant, the bright silver armor of the Lothlorien soldiers was overrun with black. Cynda!

He had little time for dread, as the Orcs no longer needed their ladders to climb the wall. They accessed the stairs on the back side of the wall, and rushed the remaining elves with renewed might. Haldir had lost sight of Ehron after the blast, but could not search for him—he was swarmed by an onslaught of Uruk-Hai, and could barely manage to keep them all in his sight. He allowed his fear to turn to hate, and thrust his anger into his sword. He sliced across the belly of an Orc, its black, slimy insides spilling out onto the stone. He kicked its body back against two more, pushing them down to the ground. He advanced on them, kicking one so hard in the face that its head turned clear around atop a broken neck. He thrust his sword down into the throat of the other, and it gargled and choked as black blood boiled up from the wound.

He felt a sudden blow and was thrown back, an Orc foot kicking him square in the chest. He stayed on his feet, and swung his sword in front of him, taunting the creature. The Orc stepped over the three slain bodies of its comrades, and snarled. It said something in black speech, and spit its own blood at Haldir's feet.

"Amin feuya ten' lle, saurar (You disgust me, filth)," Haldir hissed at the beast, and it blundered forward, snarling. Haldir buried the long edge of his sword in its belly, and sliced sideways, allowing the falling weight of the Orc to send the sharp edge deeper into its bowels. He pulled the blade from it as it hit the ground, just as he heard Aragorn calling his name. He looked to find the great warrior below, still alive.

"Nan barad! (To the keep!)" Aragorn yelled, pointing to the Hornburg. Haldir nodded, and looked down the length of the wall. Very few elves remained atop the wall. He caught a glimpse of Ehron, in the midst of a hand fight with an Orc. Haldir yelled to the remaining forces, and ordered the retreat. Ehron could not seem to disengage his opponent. _Come on, kid!_

He ordered the retreat once more, looking to the keep and back to Ehron. His steps were unsure as he made his way toward the Hornburg . He knew he could easily help Ehron slay his opponent, but he was the Captain. He must make sure the Galadhrim were on the retreat.

He turned away from Ehron just in time to deflect a black blade as it swung toward him. He used his momentum to force the Orc to the ground, just as a searing pain sliced the inside of his arm, from his wrist to his elbow. The burning of it took the breath from his lungs, and he choked as the sting spread, like fire in his veins. He recovered, blinking past the pain, and thrust his sword into the belly of his attacker. The Orc fell, and Haldir stumbled back, disoriented. The Orc blade seemed to pull the blood from him, like no mortal weapon ever had. His knees were weak as he glanced down at the wound. The blade had found the open edge of his armor, on the underside of his arm, and sliced hideously into the muscle. He glanced around, trying to swallow the blinding pain and continue his retreat to the keep. His body seemed sluggish and unresponsive. Everything around him was moving too quickly. Get up. _Get up!_

He was struck then, and it felt as though lightning had cracked straight down his spine. His breath was forced out with the blow, and his lungs labored to pull in another. He was driven to his knees, and felt his outer extremities growing numb. His breathing was shallow and unsteady, as his ears began to ring and his vision grew cloudy. He had never felt such a feeling as this. The pain had been unbearable, and yet, now he could feel nothing. Not the wound on his arm or back, not the cold stone beneath his knees. He blinked, trying to clear his thoughts, but it seemed only to blur his vision further. His eyes found Ehron… lifeless beneath the body of a dead Orc. There was blood coming from beneath his helmet and dripping into the whites of his open, unmoving eyes. Haldir felt his heart sear one final time, and he tried to remember light… remember love. Everything that had given his immortal life meaning. He envisioned the trees of Lothlorien, but they were not his trees. They were crackling under the heat of Mordor's fires. The branches curled against the flames licking at their leaves, and the bark of their mighty trunks screamed in agony as they buckled. Horses ran from the forest, their beautiful manes scorched with flame. Smoke hung heavy in the air—it covered everything. The moon could not break through the darkness, could not claw its way to honor the fallen mellyrn trees with its light. He knew there was another light, as bright as any star… he tried to remember it, remember her. The smoke grew thicker, darker. It filled his vision. Filled his lungs until he could not breathe around it. Until it was all just blackness.

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><p><strong>Wow. Sorry I totally went all George R. R. Martin on you guys. Needlessly cruel to my most beloved characters. But hey, it's comforting to think that Haldir had a passionate, albeit short, love affair before his untimely death. At least he was loved. :-) But don't walk away just yet, there's an Epilogue coming! Stay tuned.<strong>


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Aragorn entered the great hall of the Hornburg, his body aching from the nightlong battle. He was weary and downtrodden, and was poorly prepared for the sight that he beheld upon entering the hall. It struck him to his core. The dead had been gathered, so their loved ones could take their bodies and honor them with burial. Women cried at the feet of their husbands, fathers clung to the lifeless bodies of their sons. But what truly struck Aragorn was the elves. Their fallen had also been gathered, and lay on the cold stone, their arms folded over them. Their brethren stood gathered around, silently bowing their heads in mourning. Aragorn could not help but feel a deep grief, not only for the immortal lives that had been torn from this world, but also for those elves who survived. They did not wail or cry, as the humans did. But Aragorn knew their grief was as real as any.

He continued through the hall, and another white hot knife of sorrow stabbed at his heart. Haldir. The fallen Galadhrim Captain. His armor had been cleaned of blood, and he looked peaceful, as if he slumbered. A small group of elves gathered around him, one kneeling beside him. Aragorn's approach was halted as he realized that the elf who knelt beside Haldir… was a woman. He had not known there were any female elves enlisted in the Galadhrim. He knew instantly that she was not simply another soldier. She knelt with the Captain's hand grasped between hers, tears silently falling from her cheeks. How she reminded him of his precious Arwen. And how he knew the tears of an elf maiden were not to be easily drawn.

He came to stand next to Haldir's brother, who he remembered was called Orophin. The elf did not acknowledge his presence, and with another jolt of agony, he realized why. Orophin had lost both his brothers this night. To Haldir's left was the body of Rumil. Aragorn stood in silence, and placed his hand on Orophin's shoulder. The surrounding elves began to disperse, their aim wandering. They seemed entirely lost in the presence of so much death.

Only two remained near the body of Haldir. Orophin and the unnamed maiden. Aragorn stood with Orophin for a while, until Legolas appeared beside him. Though he seemed unmoved, Aragorn alone could see the slight grimace of his lips, the lines beneath his eyes. He mourned for the elves, and the fallen Captain.

Aragorn stepped forward to stand behind the elf maiden. She gasped in a sob, clearly trying to conceal her emotion from a human. He knelt behind her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned slightly, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"What is your name, child?" he asked softly, and she swallowed, trying to find her voice.

"Cynda," she whispered, and released Haldir's hand, draping it gently over his body. Her hand lingered on top of his for a moment longer, her fingertips tracing the curve of his. She loved him. It was plain as day.

"Cynda," Aragorn repeated, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. Her breaths were shaky, and she kept her gaze on Haldir, as if willing him to wake up.

"Haldir was a brave soldier," he said, and Cynda nodded, wiping her cheeks once more. "He bought us this day. Without him… without any of you…" he glanced back to acknowledge Orophin once more. "We would not have seen the sun rise. It is of little comfort to you now. But know that his sacrifice will not be forgotten. Not by the people of Rohan. Not by this man," he said, and Cynda turned, looking him in the eyes. He was struck by her beauty, though her eyes were red with tears and her cheek was smeared with blood. She nodded and hugged him loosely; her entire body seemed drained of its strength.

"Thank you," she whispered, and pulled back, her eyes falling to Haldir once more. Aragorn stood, allowing her the space she needed. She leaned forward, her hand over top of Haldir's, and kissed his forehead.

"Tenna' ento lye omenta (Until I see you again)," she said, brushing his brow with her thumb. Aragorn could not help the grimace as he heard her words, and the sadness within them. She would live many years to come, if her heart could bear it. She would never see him again.

Aragorn backed away, and approached Legolas, whose eyes seemed fixed elsewhere. Aragorn followed his sight, to an elf lying next to Rumil.

"Only a boy…" Legolas said, and Aragorn could hear the pain in his voice. The elf was indeed young. Perhaps only a few mortal lifetimes. Far too young, as were many of Rohan's forces.

"His name was Ehron," Cynda said, as she approached both of them, her eyes also falling to the boy. "He was my friend. Haldir's friend. He did not deserve this," she said, clearly fighting back the tears that still threatened to spill over.

"How do you do this, Prince Legolas?" she asked, her voice unsteady. "You have been fighting this war far longer than any of us. How can you see so much death, and still remain whole?"

Legolas observed her, his words hung in his throat. His blue eyes seemed far away. "I would offer you words of comfort, my lady. I would tell you that your heart will heal. That the eternity that follows will not haunt you. But those words would be deception," he said, his eyes cast to the ground. Aragorn had not realized the toll this war had taken upon his friend until he heard the deep sorrow in Legolas's voice. He knew the bloodshed would haunt him for the rest of his human years. How terrifying it must be for an immortal to know that the memories of such pain would linger endlessly.

Cynda sighed, clearly hearing the truth she had known but did not want to hear. "I will see their bodies back to Lothlorien. They will rest beneath the trees, as woodland elves should," she said, her eyes staring back at Haldir, then drifting to the single elf who remained by his body. "And… I fear I must see Orophin to Valinor. He has been broken by the death of his brothers. His heart is not long for this world," she said, her tears finally spilling out, unable to contain them any longer. Her eyes drifted to a young Rohan girl, who was placing small, hand-picked flowers atop the folded hands of the elves. Cynda wiped her tears, and took in a determined breath.

"This war has taken much from me, and my people. I cannot return to Lothlorien if he is not…" her words caught, her eyes darting back to Haldir. When she pulled her eyes back to Aragorn and Legolas, her expression was stern. "Haldir died for the sake of all our races, not just the elves," she said, observing the Rohan girl as she placed a soft yellow flower on Ehron's chest. "That allegiance cannot be allowed to falter. I will see to my duties in Lothlorien," she said, pulling her sword and kneeling in front of Aragorn. "Upon my return, I will find you and what remains of this fellowship. I pledge my sword to the heir of Gondor," she said, bowing her head. Aragorn's heart stung at her words, though he felt a deep pride in this young woman. Again his thoughts were pulled to his Arwen, and how fiercely her heart loved. How mighty the world's armies would be if their women were permitted to fight.

Aragorn held out his hand, and Cynda took it, rising to stand before him. "Haldir believed in you," she said, her chin held high in determination. "The Prince believes in you," she nodded to Legolas, who returned the gesture. "I will follow you into the fires of Mordor, my lord," she said, bowing her head once more. Aragorn pulled her into a hug, just as he had Haldir only hours ago.

"Tenna' san' mellonamin (Until then, my friend)" he said, and turned, allowing Cynda to return to Orophin's side. Legolas joined Aragorn as they made their way to the door, where Gimli stood waiting. "A valiant warrior," Legolas said of Cynda, and Aragorn nodded. "We will need all of them where we're going," Aragorn said, his hands coming to rest on the shoulders of his two friends, never more grateful for their presence. He shared a smile with both of them, and allowed one final glance back at the elves who had given their lives, and to the one who had pledged hers to his cause. He had been sure that Helm's Deep would be the death of him and his friends. And yet, here they stood. His gaze found Cynda, who stood clinging to Orophin's neck, and was struck by a poignant thought. An army inspired by such love and devotion could not possibly fall to the armies of hate.

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><p><strong>Hey look! I made a thing! You can find an accompanying video tribute on youtube. Fanfiction won't let me post the link, so type in youtube's address then watch?v=IXGm4aXyVPs**

** I promise it's worth your time. :-)**

**Again, thank you all for reading, and let me know what you thought of the story or the video! **


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